Knocking Helps
by Secret Scarlet Lilly
Summary: All Clarke wanted was a nice, stress relieving day off. It had started out so good too, until Bellamy decided to ram through her door unexpectedly, while she's... you know... busy. Bellarke! Fluffy and smutty goodness.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This will be a two-shot. I really need to get a life, Bellarke has taken over everything. I should be studying for finals that I have to take this week, but nope. Time setting is after they settle the treaty and get back their friends from Mount Weather.

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><p>He's so goddamn infuriating.<p>

It's getting really obnoxious and _aggravating_, with the summer heat and the pestering mosquitoes that think it's pretty funny to nibble _every_ inch of her exposed skin.

There should not be a freaking _bug bite_ on her _ass._

But ah well, that's what the change of seasons bring, a blanket of suffocating humidity and blistering heat, buzzing and harassing bugs zipping through the air; deflected by constant swiping hands, and bare chests.

Lots and lots and _lots _of purely and absolutely _naked_, _toned, muscular, bronze, silky smooth, _very _enticing _and really_ distracting-_

"Like what you see, Princess?"

_Chests. Like how exactly does he manage to have such flawless skin with all the bugs going around and why is he so muscular-_

"Clarke?"

_He must be doing pushups or something in his tent every night, because is that an eight pack? No, wait, let's count just to make sure-_

"Clarke!"

The blonde literally jumps; a squeak that sounds painfully similar like _seven_, her eyes shooting back up to his murky and increasingly amused chocolate eyes. He's wearing this smug grin, the dimple in his chin almost mocking her as he raises an eyebrow at her prolonged stare.

She clears her throat, feeling the rosy heat rise up her neck, creeping up to her cheeks and flushed against the swell of her breasts, and she subconsciously and halfheartedly blames it on the summer temperature.

"I- I um," She crinkles her own eyebrows, biting her lip as she wracks her brain with what exactly she wanted to stay prior to being lured in by his annoyingly attractive body. Suddenly a smile breaks free and runs across her face, her tulip pink lips curling into a wide grin, her eyes brightening and twinkling against the reflection of the glittering sun, and he finds an abundance of warmth flourish inside his lower stomach.

She's already managed to lighten his previously grumpy mood in less than two minutes, her flustered exchange of expressions humoring him.

Her smile is contagious, and the arrogant expression he had transitions to one of a sincere smile and crinkled eyes and a slight shake of the head.

His heart picks up in pace, and he tries his best to ignore the girly, fluttery feeling in his chest.

"I am taking the day off."

What.

He must have said it out loud, because the relieved grin she wore slipped off and shattered to that of an irritated look, as she lists off the numerous reasons why she _deserves_ a day off.

"Look, its summer, and we don't have issues with anyone outside the walls anymore since the treaty and no one's been showing up in the medical bay as of _late_," She emphasizes the last word, creating a 'tsk' sound that sweeps off the look of skeptical he was broadly wearing. He glances at her with a haughty smile, noticing the red hue that still adorned her pretty face.

"And I've been working my ass off to help repair the rest of the cabins that collapsed after the storm in January, and I really need to freaking bathe because I've been wearing the same shirt for the past three days and I'm pretty sure my new natural scent is sweat, and why the hell do I even have to wear a shirt, all of you stupid guys not wearing shirts, I swear one more day in this heat I'm going to go _naked, _and-…"

"Clarke!" He barks, his eyebrows shooting up at the mention of her going nude, and her annoyance with bare chests in which explained why she was fiercely glaring at his just a moment ago. She purses her lips, cocking an eyebrow at him, not wanting to leave any room for discussion.

He just kind of looks at her, with that look that makes her insides feel all funny and her fingers to tremble and the urge to blush really unavoidable.

She unlatches her eyes from his, growing slightly embarrassed at his amused demeanor. She finds a nice patch of grass to stare at as she mutters, "if I get one more bug bite I'll bite someone's head off…"

His head tilts back and he laughs, a noise that catches her attention instantaneously, the fizzy, giddy kind of feeling caressing her heart and making it pound erratically.

She exposes a smile she tried to hold back, the will to be frustrated evaporating at the delicate and simply delicious sounds that pushes past his parted lips. She's only heard him laugh like this around her, and even if it's because he's laughing _at _her, she doesn't really mind. A giggle bubbles up inside her that intermingles with his continuous laughter, and then the both of them are gaining the attention of the whole entire camp.

She feels curious eyes drilling holes into her skin and at the back of her head and the giggles slowly cease. He must feel it too, since he shares a small smile with her, before clearing his throat, dismissing the lingering eyes to mind their own business.

He puts a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there almost nervously as he catches her gaze again.

"Go have a day off. You deserve it."

The words seam oddly similar to the ones he had said on unity day, and they both experience a case of Déjà vu.

"Yeah, okay. So do you."

She beams at him, her gaze falling to his chest as she whispers _eight_ to herself, receives a questioning and entertained look from the great Bellamy himself, turning on her heel in the direction of her own cabin, before quickly winking and then hastily rushing off.

Clarke feels the returning blush consume her face, as she mouths to herself, '_Did I seriously just wink at him?'_

Her pace quickens, the heat in the air and in her tummy making her want to pass out.

She leaves a pleasantly surprised Bellamy, a big goofy smile sprawled out across his handsome face, his eyes dipping to the ground before returning to her departing body.

He snickers again when he sees her hastily scratch the pestering bug bite on her left elbow, positive that she was probably cursing under her breath and grumbling about how there were _no bugs on the Ark._

There's his heart thumping against his ribcage again and that annoying flustered sensation coming on, as he replays her wink over and over helplessly in his mind.

He stalks off, going to help with the continuous work of rebuilding and building homes, that silly, toothy grin not once slipping.

It's all so innocent, everything she does and everything she is, to her subtle touches and her big, blue eyes and that damn freckle above her lip, her golden locks that he really wants to play with during meetings, and all sorts of girly junk that he has no idea when he became so infatuated with.

It's so _innocent._

Unfortunately for him, her innocent persona would be shattered in a few hours or so.

And he'll be thinking more about fisting her hair in his hand and ramming into her against a table, then simply brushing his fingers through her hair.

Or maybe both,

But, well, you'll see.

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><p>AN: Oh goodness. Review?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is becoming a little monster. I am purely evil I swear. Another night not studying for finals... what has my life come to. I was blushing while writing this, so enjoy ;0~  
><strong>

**Oh, by the way, this is in fact fluffy. So fluffy, it makes me feel a little embarrassed. Okay, maybe not _that_ fluffy, but then again, then line between fluffy and naughty is quite blurred.**

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><p>Clarke Griffin finds herself thoroughly exhausted after every day of long working hours involving bloodied finger tips and squirming bodies limping through the medical bay, and it only makes sense that when she finally does gets some peace and quiet, she can fall asleep in a <em>snap<em>.

But today, when she plummets face first into her makeshift mattress full of animal furs she's collected, she's almost shocked that sleep doesn't consume her. It's _damn _hot, there's really no ventilation in the small two room cabin of hers besides that measly window near the entrance of her abode, and she wastes no valuable time peeling off her grossly damp shirt and kicking off her pants that had stuck to her like a second skin.

It's still hot, and she's lying on her back staring at the ceiling, basking in the summer light that's slithering into the room that licks at her exposed skin and leaves it a flushed pink.

She grumbles out, '_fuck it,_' and forces her arms back to unclasp her bra and halfheartedly hurls it across the room, the pitiful fabric smacking the wall with enough force to create a, '_wap,'_ sort of sound.

"Serves you right," she mutters prior to letting out a relived gasp at the loss of constriction surrounding her chest. She pauses, thinking to herself, '_I really need to stop talking to myself,' _while stripping off her last modest undergarment , the panties flung high and slinking down the front of her door.

She sighs a breath of reprieve, her sun kissed chaos that is her hair damp and stuck to her forehead, tickling the back of her neck and shoulders uncomfortably. She brushes it all up while momentarily pushing her body up, then instantly slamming right back down on her back calmly, feeling the slight cool air caress her nude hourglass body and busty frame.

She flutters her eyes closed and wills sleep to overwhelm her and take her into its comforting and blissful ignorance.

_One minute._

_Two minutes._

_Three minutes._

She squirms trying desperately to get comfortable, smacking her head against a poorly made improvised pillow, throwing the covers over her, then cursing at the searing heat encased in their embrace.

She throws the multitude of suffocating, fluffy blankets off frustrated, whipping her upper body up and blatantly glowering at the closed door in front of her.

_It's too hot to sleep, and too hot to function._

She plops down again on her back miserably, her dark and lengthy eyelashes tickling her cheeks as she blinks, sinking into her bed and reluctantly closing her eyes again.

_Just think, and eventually you'll go to sleep. _

_Think._

Instantaneously she's filtering through memories like flying through pages of a magazine, scanning them and dismissing them. She reminisces on the near death experiences, the losses of Wells and Charlotte and her father, even allowing her mind to damper into the affairs of a rope and a dangling boy, seeming to be walking in space at the way he was suspended up so high.

She feels a weight against her chest, and her breath hitches and gets caught in her throat, her hand sliding down her face in anguish.

_Breath._

She takes a deep inhale, letting the air linger in her lungs and whistle through her nose. She steadies the rampaging emotions creating a whirlpool in her heart and raging war in her mind, and let's her pestering mind drift to simpler things.

_The bunnies that hopped about in spring, nuzzling their pink noses into the grass, sniffing the crisp scent of dancing flowers and listening to the wind getting entangled in the branches of dozens of swishing trees._

_The sparkle and shimmer of sunshine illuminating the clear, crystal blue of the lake, the feel of refreshing water accepting and nourishing her skin._

_Rough, calloused, tan finger tips, the feel of his hands brushing against hers, the tingles of delight and the embellishment of shy reassurance, the tenderness of his voice, the harsh husky tone that entangles in the depths of her thoughts._

She blinks, slightly surprised that the thought of Bellamy's hands were so deeply engraved into her brain, and she sighs a bit. He always had this way of calming her down, when nothing else can. She can't help but keep thinking about him, if only _just _to fall asleep, she inwardly insists as she begins to feel overly cautious and in denial that there was any other reason as to why her brain went instantly to him.

_His smile, the way it__ mesmerized anyone who caught a glimpse of it, by the way his lips curled in a crooked curve, or because his bottom lip seemed faintly bigger than his top, or maybe it was how he had that barely chipped tooth from getting into a fist fight with a grounder, that stood out against the other pearly whites. Maybe it was how his dimples only exposed themselves when he genuinely laughed. It was a sporadic sight and enchanting experience to see that smile. _

_Whether his smile was hesitant and minor, or immediate and immense, whether a frown keeps her from discovering that smile, she can't help but yearn for it.  
><em>

_That smile, mischievous, a mystery in itself, it can bring her anticipation and cause her heart to ache._

Her right hand unconsciously traces her bottom tulip lip, tickling the skin as she barely brushes the tip of her tongue to her fingertip, before continuing her agonizingly slow pattern of grazing it against her top lip, then bottom, then top again.

She can't help but wonder curiously, _'Maybe he's yearning and craving my smile as well. Maybe he has thought of my smile as many times as I have thought of his. Maybe my smile lurks in his dreams, taunting him and causes him grief.'_

The mere thought is silly and exceptionally ridiculous, but she can only imagine him getting all flustered over it. A giggle fizzles up, and she continues to let her mind wander to the many _impossible _possibilities and scenarios of a certain infuriatingly and annoyingly beautiful man.

_His calloused hands and freckled finger tips, the shape of his hands and his slightly bent pinkies. When he is slow to react when she says his name, and when his soft lips form a charming sincere smile when they make small talk privately. Those rare times when she looks up, and catches his face brightening in the most wondrous way. That mischievous twinkle in his murky eyes, enraptured with so much feeling. _

_His confident stature and assertive attitude, the vein that pulses on the underside of his jaw when he yells, the strain of tension in his muscles when he argues. _

_The almost distraught and desperate touches when they debate, the grasp of his hands on her wrists or shoulders, his abrupt impulsiveness that usually propels him stomping out of her cabin, muttering about needing air._

_His scent of firewood, a musky dawn and apples; it's all him._

_Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy._

She hasn't noticed her once limp arm moving up to trace scribbles of swirls above her naval, the nail skimming the delicate blushing skin of her stomach, her lips trembling as her heart begins to pick up pace.

_His expressive russet colored eyes, holding depths of emotions that simply take her breath away._

_What they would look like observing her, all exposed and breathless, if they would shy away or simply stare._

One hand drifts to the soft milky mounds of her breasts, scarcely pinching the susceptive pink tips, a slight gasp echoing throughout the fiercely quiet and increasingly _heated_ room. Another hand slips from the dip of her naval to her untouched curls, ghosting her finger nail against the flesh of her inner thighs, skating around the aching and yearning want that demands attention, nested in-between her legs.

_Would he touch her like this? Would he whisper teasing things in her ear?_

_Naughty Princess._

A gasping whimper trembles through her, and despite the rising temperature, she gets goose bumps.

She finally allows the mischievous finger to slip against her already damp slit, brushing against the bundle of nerves at the top, easing the wetness to coat her entire little finger.

"Oh-."

She murmurs as she plunges it inside her throbbing warmth, tantalizingly _slow_, her other hand pinching her harden nipples punitively before motioning to rub against her pearl.

_His thick fingers and calloused hands would be rough against her smooth skin._

_He'd scrape his teeth against her nipples, flinging teasing taunts at the way she won't be able to keep her noises down._

"Oh, Oh fuck…"

She's increasing her frantic pace, her finger slightly bent to get a deeper angle as she shoves another one along with it.

_Two of her fingers are probably the same size as one of his._

She's feverishly rubbing her clit; only pausing for a split moment to press her fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue around them to muffle the spewing moans resounding in the room around her.

There's a plethora of warmth flourishing in her lower tummy, the heat intolerable, almost like a coil being bent to the point of snapping.

She's beginning to see stars and her vision is flickering with specks of black, her lips parted as she mews and gasps at the continuous pleasurable torture.

_Bellamy… Bellamy…_

She's so close it aches, a bead of sweat dripping from her forehead, cascading down her rosy cheek; her tongue tasting the flavor; salty.

Her walls are pulsating against the thickness of her two fingers working restlessly inside her, the delving rhythm becoming shaky and sloppy.

She can almost hear his raspy, hoarse voice, her breathless panting and high pitched cry ricocheting off the walls of her room as she teeters over the edge.

_So close, almost there._

_Bellamy._

_Bell-_

**BAM.**

An unexpected and abrupt slam of a door halts her movements, as she springs up instantly in the bed, her fingers scrambling away from her sacred areas, feeling almost lightheaded at the whiplash she received from moving so quickly at the loud and sudden noise.

To her absolute horror, there standing with the door wide open, is no one other than Bellamy Blake.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm so sorry. I warned you I was evil. Cliff hangers are the worst, muwhahaha. Review, and I _might_ post the next chapter.**

**Again, muwhahahaha (continuous maniacal laughter)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know, look at me updating so good. My poor Fiolee story, I am so making it M rated. ANYWAYS. Thank you so much for the continuous feedback! I know I left you guys hanging, but here I am! My continuous streak of evil still going strong. Please continue to review, it's an amazing encouragement and the only reason I've been updating so quickly, is because of it. I usually lose inspiration for my stories, but I feel like I'm on a roll. So thanks to all of you who reviewed! To the rest, thanks for reading. But blah blah blah, no one reads these author notes anyways.**

**WARNING: (maniacal laughter in background)**

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><p>In his defense, he had every right to barge through her door.<p>

They had scheduled a meeting to discuss the progress of rebuilding homes and sending out a group of people to scavenge for more food an hour before sundown.

And well, the sun was already beginning to set and the hustle and bustle of teenagers swarming around camp fires and gulping down that cursed moonshine had begun to take place, and she still hadn't shown up.

He had figured it's because she either forgotten, or had fallen asleep, but he also knows her too well, and that she was never one to take naps or be scatterbrained and forgetful.

So when Miller, Octavia, Lincoln and Raven were all discussing the need for storing water and needing more wood for cabins, he had begun to feel slightly irritated at her lack of presence.

"Where's Clarke anyways, Bellamy? I haven't seen her all day." Octavia speaks up, noticing the deep scowl inscribed on her brother's face, his furrowed eyebrow and hunched shoulders, as if he's lost in thought. Her suspicion that he's worried about Clarke is confirmed when he jerks his head up and locks eyes with her, staggering in his response, caught off guard by the sudden question hurled his way.

"Uh, she requested a day off, and went to her cabin earlier today, and I haven't seen or heard from her since." All their gazes direct towards him, everyone sharing the same apprehensive and inquiring expressions.

"Clarke taking a day off? Never thought I'd see the day." Raven remarks while shaking her head slightly, half smiling whilst pulling at the back of her lengthy ponytail, making it nice and snug against her head.

"She should still be here though," Bellamy mutters grumpily, crossing his arms in front of him, appearing like a child pouting about not getting his way.

"I can go get her, real quick." Octavia announces whilst bouncing up out of her seat, flashing a quick, uncertain smile towards her exhausted and irritated brother.

Bellamy shakes his head 'no,' pressing his hand to her shoulder in a way that demonstrated authority. She rolls her eyes, sitting back down reluctantly and gradually at the slight pressure on her right shoulder, flickering her eyes back to Lincoln, a grin quirking the corners of her lips.

"You're just pouting because she hasn't been giving you attention." She mumbles out, sharply sensing the heat of Bellamy's glower directed at the side of her head.

"I don't care if she takes breaks. But she shouldn't bail on a meeting. It's unprofessional." He remains speaking grouchily to the side of his sister's head, feeling his frustration churn in his stomach when he sees her roll her eyes again at Lincoln, Lincoln in turn trying and losing a battle at smiling an amused grin.

"Octavia's right. You're only in a good mood when she's around you. Seems like you have a thing for her, the way you follow her around like a sick puppy." Raven snickers, her chocolate eyes glancing up to catch Bellamy's residual glare. She has the nerve to even laugh at his ridiculous reaction at her words.

"I do not!" Bellamy's voice picks up in a higher tone in denial, frustration interlacing throughout the words at the quiet laughter surrounding him. He even hears Miller trying to stifle a chuckle, and clenches his jaw at the feeling of being made fun of.

He huffs, spinning around and stomps out through the door, tossing the words, "I'm going to get her," over his shoulder and sulks off.

Raven turns to face Octavia with an incredulous appearance, the amusement still lingering in her words, as she tilts her head towards the route the ill-tempered man just trudged off in.

"What's up with him? We were only kidding."

Octavia's features brighten, her head leaning against her hand picking up, as she shifts to move herself upright in her seat.

"I know! Bellamy and Clarke? There's no way."

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><p>'I do <em>not<em> follow her around like a _sick puppy_.'

Bellamy protests inside his head, catching the glances of a few teenagers as he makes hurried steps towards Clarke's front door, hesitating before knocking, his brain in disarray with the thought of her.

Sure, they are together most of the time, and he does check up on her at the medical bay four or five times a day for nothing in particular, but that doesn't mean he's _following_ her around.

And _sure_, she does get him in a better mood than anyone else can; besides when they're in a heated argument, and she's the only person that can really get under his skin and defuse residual anger, or make him second guess himself in his decisions.

And well, there's times when he does prefer her over anyone else, because she's easy to talk too and she has the capability of making him laugh at her mischievous behavior.

There's also times when he gets so frustrated thinking about her that he can't sleep, and other times when he wants to touch her with no appropriate reason, and those times when she gets all close and personal and all he can really focus on is her lips and not the fuming words spewing out of it.

But that does _not_, in _any way possible_, mean that he had a thing for her.

She's too _insufferable_, always so intense and serious, and exasperatingly beautiful.

She can make his stomach do that really aggravating jittery thing, but that's it.

He_ cannot_ have unnecessary feelings for her. She is his partner, the co-leader to running this mess of hormonal teenagers and pandemonium, his somewhat friend that seems to know him better than himself, and the thought of anything else is foreign, strange, and _off limits_.

He shakes his head and lets out an exhale, his unscrupulous dark curls getting tangled in his eyelashes as he motions a step closer to the daunting and unnerving door.

His hand gently rests on the doorknob, about to turn it, when he recognizes a trembling voice that sounds distinctly similar to Clarke's.

"Bellamy…"

He pauses, before opening the door timidly and leisurely, reluctantly treading into her vacant living room. He rakes a hand through his locks, pursing his lips as he inspects the place.

There's no blonde girl rummaging about, and for a split moment he thinks he's going partially insane at the thought of hallucinating her saying his name.

"Clarke?"

He mutters gently, stepping nearer to the door of her bedroom, wavering at regaining his composure.

There's no response, and he contemplates that's she's sleeping, until a muffled, breathless scream reaches his ears.

"Bellamy!"

His instincts jump start, his heart kicking into over drive as he jerks the door open hastily, his hands clammy and his mind sifting through depictions of her in grave peril.

But nothing could prepare him for this.

She's got her head tilted back, her plush pink lips parted and panting out moans, her impatient fingers thrusting inside her recklessly, her back arching off the bed in a desperate yearning for release.

Her blonde hair spilling everywhere around a pillow, her bare body glistening from sweat, her generously large breasts pressed up into the air, the sensitive hardened tips swollen at being fondled and pinched.

His mind goes blank, not aware of his boot stepping precisely on her discarded panties, his hand still out stretched, grasping onto the knob of the door in a tense, stationary motion.

Her display is cut off in the spur of the moment, her hands jolting back at the sound of his entrance, her upper body flinging forward, her usual wavy golden strands bunched up in curls falling on top of her shoulders and cascading down her back. Her eyes are a frantic and electric blue, the misty arousal still lingering there before vanishing immediately at the sight of him.

Clarke freezes, caught in a shamefully unthinkable predicament, too frightened to break eye contact with him as they both gape at each other, eyes wide and jaws slack, disbelief and astonishment scrawled across both of their faces.

"Shit." He utters finally, too stuck in bewilderment to glance away.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm sorry. I know I promised a two shot and this is becoming quite long, but oh well. Just makes the anticipation greater! Don't hate me! Review, review, review and tell me whatcha think Bellamy's gunna do. Hehe.**

**Again. I'm evil, but reviews make me update. Unless you _don't_ want to see what happens next.**

**(Muwhahahahahahahahha *cough cough* muwhahaha)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This was very intense to write. But I'm actually proud. Thank you for all the reviews. This is my gift to you, after the crazy mid season finale yesterday. **

**WARNING: (You might die)**

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><p>She's crying out your <em>name,<em>

She's wanted you to ignite the _flame_

She's a trembling mess entangled with _bliss,_

She's enraptured in desire for your _kiss_

She's a feast for your _eyes,_

She's going to try spilling _lies,_

But the only truth is, she was already _yours_

From the moment you opened up that _door._

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><p>The silence engulfs them in its riveting strained and ridged embrace, her heart's heavy pounding reverberating in her ears, and pulsing against her ribcage, the <em>thumping <em>sound so loud she's almost terrified he can hear it; it being practically evident in the way he's intensely watching her.

His usual softened musky chestnut eyes, dilated and churning with rampant emotions she doesn't quite fathom, so _mysterious _she can't even see the pupil in the midst of his brown eyes, a profound darkness much like a night with no stars in sight.

But suddenly there is something there in those resigned eyes of his, a spark that ignites the lavishing fire within, his still and motionless body _moving,_ his lengthy calloused fingers that she'd fantasized about slipping off the smooth doorknob, his slack jaw clenching and his thick eyebrows creasing, casting his rough and handsome features in a shadow of intimidation and _desire._

She can't stop staring, stock still and _trembling_, with each step he takes closer to her bed is her own slight shift in movement backwards, her knees slowly moving to shield her bare and vulnerable body as best as they can, her heart's continuous thudding quickening, and she can't quiet remember how to breath.

He doesn't take his eyes off her, doesn't let them wander curiously to places below her neck. Constantly enduring, bound with hers in a relentless battle of will, his hands curling and clenching into firmly locked fists, a harsh breath of air flaring his nostrils.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

He's taken three steps closer, his tall and lean body towering over hers as he motions to the side of her bed. She doesn't recognize the barely audible whimper that passes past her lips, her eyes wavering as she scoots farther away from him, in turn causing him to inch closer.

He's so terribly _close_, she can perceive the sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of his nose, scattering over his cheeks in clusters. A seemingly innocent aspect for such a roguish and menacing face, his evident jaw line and slopping nose, that vague scar that coils against his cheek and the other one running shortly in-between his eyebrows.

He's so beautiful, and she's always been aware of that.

He's crawling onto the bed in a sloth like motion, one knee pressing into the cushion, sinking the edge of the bed somewhat, while his arm goes out in front, holding his weight up as he maneuvers nearer to her, that foreboding composed expression and penetrating stare of his never swaying.

She pulls her plump bottom lip between white teeth warily, the sweat that left a clear sheen against her pale skin seeming to stick to her in a suffocating grasp, her body nearing the other edge of the bed trying desperately to keep her distance from him. He doesn't notice her fear or simply doesn't care, his mind entangled in the web of her, locked in a haze of her saying his name, frustrated with not being able to stop his magnetic pull to her, like an invisible force pushing him closer and closer.

_She was saying my name._

_She was thinking of me._

She tries to compose herself as best as she possibly can, besides the fact that she's completely and utterly _naked,_ as she wills herself the ability to even speak.

"Bellamy…"

It's supposed to come out as solid and threatening, yet it becomes dwindled and incomplete, a whispered plea, truly desperate for him to _leave_, for him to stop decreasing the space in-between their hammering hearts.

She finally manages to look away, frantically searching and scouring the room for those abandoned blankets lying limp against the floor directly next to the bed, just an arm's length away.

It's a quick flustered bundled bunch of moments, with her body turning and her arm reaching out hastily to grab at the sheets, his body jerking into action as he anticipates this movement and grasps her wrist firmly in his hand, thrusting her back into the bed aggressively.

She lets out a gasp of air as her back gets pushed roughly back to the bed, her head hitting the makeshift pillows and her arm being extended up above her head, held in pace by his tightened clutch.

He traps her in-between his legs, his knees on either sides of her thighs, his other hand finding and catching her other wrist, pressing it up above her head.

His clothed and toned chest pressing into her bare breasts, his warm breath hitting her lips at the close proximity of his leaned down face, and they lock gazes once again.

She squirms frustrated, the soft skin of her hips feeling the jagged indent his jeans were making against them , his body tensing at her movement to keep her in place.

She lets out an exasperated huff, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze as she spews out, "Let me go Bellamy!"

His eyes narrow as he notices her dodging his impending inspection. He takes both of her wrists in one of his hands, allowing one of his hands to freely roam, his rough palm embracing the flushed side of her cheek as he gently nudges it, encouraging her to look at him again.

"Not until you tell me why you were saying my name."

It's husky and strained, coming out through clenched teeth, his jaw clenching again as his frustration and need presses against the milky smooth skin of her inner thigh.

She gapes at him, a rosy blush consuming her face as her eyes stray from his, looking anywhere that's not him, but finding it quite difficult with his lips so tauntingly close. Warmth flourishes in her stomach, her cheeks burning, the heat going to the tips of her ears and sending chills to her toes.

_Was I really saying it out loud?_

It's as if he's read her mind, an immensely smug and boastful smirk breaking through his tense expression, his dark eyes lightening in amusement at the splash of color adorning the blonde's cheeks. She takes notice of this by the way he lessens his grip on her wrists, and she puffs out her cheeks in a humiliated pout, her nose scrunching up as she launches a menacing glare at him.

He has the audacity to laugh, his back straightening up while still straddling her, his head tilting back slightly, his soft and mischievous curls bouncing as he laughs in the most wondrous way.

He's so beautiful, genuinely laughing with those damn dimples peeking out, the vibrations trembling through her like a wavelength, and she shutters.

She outwardly rejects the feeling of her anger evaporating at the mere noise of his deep laugh, if possible, blushing even harder than before, her now released wrists free as she crosses her arms over her generously large breasts.

But then he glimpses back at her, that huge slathered on smirk lessening to just a quirk of his lips, as he moves down abruptly, his head in the crook of her neck as his lips barely hover over the shell of her ear.

"If you wanted me, all you had to do was ask."

She tenses at the suggestive whispered words, her arms uncrossing from her chest as another wave of heat hits her full force, the remnants of warmth pooling between her legs.

His breath is hot and quiet as he gently presses his soft lips to the delicate and sensitive area below her ear, dipping the tip of his tongue out to taste the flesh of her skin and sucking, his teeth skimming the flesh, Clarke shivering at the ticklish and pleasurable sensation it gives her.

A gasp and a tremble of her finger tips, and she has to restrain herself from reaching out and raking her fingers through his untamed locks.

She shifts, nudging the growing bulge against his jeans accidentally, and hears him take a shaky intake of air. He continues his parade of feather light kisses, her breath hitching after each one, a silent battle of self-control.

He's teasing her into insanity and she knows he wants her to say it, to say those _embarrassingly_ crude words.

His gentle kisses trail down to her shoulder, unexpectedly taking a quick bite, his teeth sinking into her flesh before his tongue slithers out and nourishes the tender skin.

"Ah!..." She gasps in surprise, her little noise causing his kisses to become rougher and deprived, harshly sucking and leaving imprints of reddish blue, his hips pressing forward and she can suddenly feel the impression of pulsating heat against her core.

"Why did you say my name, Clarke."

He practically growls aggressively, his pattern of love bites trailing from her shoulder and back up her neck.

"I-I…ah!"

She mumbles, cut off by her own little gasps at each brush of his clothed cock against her wet slit, feeling so absolutely embarrassed at the thought that the wetness was seeping into his jeans.

The rough fabric encounters her overly sensitive nub of nerves as he pushes against her rigidly, his subtle groan muffled by her hickey covered neck, and she instantly lets out a breathy moan of her own.

"Tell me, or I'll stop."

Deep down she knows he would, that he's just as stubborn as her and that it's always been a struggle of self-control and boundaries, and she knows that if she plays into his ultimatum, that everything they once were, all they always were, will never be the same.

She will _never _be the same.

"I… I just wanted you... that's why. Bellamy."

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><p><strong>AN: Okay. This was just plain mean. MUWHAHAHHAHAHA. **

**Review review. And i'll give the rest to you.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Super long freaking chapter. I have finally gave you all what you wanted. Though is it a blessing or a curse?**

**Thank you for all of the reviews, it's such a delight to read them all! This is why I took the time to finish this. I almost gave up, _almost,_ but then I realized I could never leave you guys hanging! That would be to evil, and I'm actually a nice person hahaha**

**and quite modest psh. ANYWAYS. This will be long. I'm sorry for any mistakes, I tried my best but since it's so long it's hard to catch and perfect anything and I am quite exhausted after working so long on it. **

**WARNING (this is really naughty. Oh gosh)**

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><p>The words linger in the air, leaving her lips in a gasp of nervousness, and he's inhaling them and letting them squirm and wither in his lungs, before exhaling them with a relieved sigh.<p>

His tense shoulders sag relaxed, a minor pleased smile quirking the corners of his soft and inviting lips, as he leans away from her neck, and gazes tenderly at her.

She feels a weight she didn't know she had lift off her chest, and she suddenly realizes and comprehends the reason he wanted her to say those words.

It wasn't to inflate his ego or heat up the already simmering arousal, no, it was something entirely different.

It was his way of asking permission.

She diminishes her fretful bones, lying still underneath his outrageously warm and looming body, permitting a moment to pass while just embracing his stare, a wordless reassurance sashaying through a glance.

They've always had that almost telepathic ability to read each others minds.

So in sync that neither one really knows who initiates it first, but she simply guesses it's him, by the way his lips crash and collide onto hers with brewing urgency, his lips moving in a searing hot and feverishly livid kiss, his tongue prodding out to taste the tender pink flesh of her bottom lip, trying to gently pry its way into her mouth yearningly.

She wastes no precious time, parting her lips and allowing his tongue to tangle frenziedly with hers, her back arching up and pressing her breasts up against his chest, humming lightly into his mouth at the feel of cloth tickling her susceptible dusky pink nipples.

Her fingers don't hesitate to comb through his untamed coiled locks, swirling her tongue around his forming their own new language, her hips lifting up urgently, wanting to relieve the hungering ache nested between her legs, the friction of his own arousal against her causing a gasp to pass through her lips and be muffled by his. He tears his lips from hers, panting for air as he lunges forward and attacks her neck, this time not caring to be gentle with his nips and sucking, littering the flesh with his mark, each one a reminder of her want for him.

Her _need_ for him.

"Bellamy," She coos enchanted by the suction of his mouth and the brushing of desires below her waist, her voice so low and helpless with desire that it causes a feathery, bubbly feeling heat up his lower stomach, and he mutters her name just as low, like a whispered chant of promises, dispersing any reluctance that still remained.

Her desperate hands plunging underneath the bottom of his flimsy shirt craving to touch his skin, her cool fingertips splaying out over his well sculpted abs, admiring and memorizing each dip and turn, taking in the toughness of muscles and the outline of scars. Her grunts into her skin, the sensation of nails dragging against his chest and traveling towards his naval spiraling his blood in a whirlpool and sending it to places farther south.

Her restless fingers hover over the top of his jeans, ghostly touching the skin of his hips before tucking halfway underneath his waistband, dragging his erection to be fully pressed into her quivering wet heat. He bites back another groan at the increased contact, her arousal seeping through his jeans, as he whips his head back to glare at her.

"Such a tease." He mutters, his hands feeling the sides of her hourglass frame, running over the dip and then exploring to the underside of her milky breasts. For the first time he fully allows himself to look at her, all of her, writhing beneath him, shyly glancing away at the heat of his prolonged stare. A rosy hue creeps up her neck and he admires in awe at the way her blush spreads to her cleavage.

"I learned from the best." She mumbles, feeling a bit self-conscious at his ongoing expectation, her heart hammering inside her chest, the hot flash of head making her a bit light headed.

The deep depth of his lustful eyes makes her core tremble, and she tries frantically to distract him.

She leans up and grips the bottom of his shirt and tugs a bit upwards, finding it slightly difficult to do with being straddled by his weight. His fingers brush her own as he motions to help pull it up and off, flinging the shirt halfheartedly over his head, the action shielding his line of view from her breasts.

The thought of being shy disassembles and withers away at the glorious sight of his tan, muscular chest. She grazes the pads of her fingers against his abs, her eyes committing to memory what her fingers already did. He crookedly smiles at her determined expression, her enticing blue eyes bright with wonder, and he feels a flare of pride in his stomach. He traps her wandering hands in his suddenly, smiling gently at her look of surprise.

He takes her hand close to his face, their eyes locked as he peppers gentle kisses against her fingers and placing a kiss to her palm, before repeating the action with her other hand.

Even though they have done a plethora of other things at this point, she finds with a pattering of her heart and a tender happiness swelling in her tummy, that this was the most intimate.

She also knows this goes farther than acting out of lust, that this would be more than casual sex.

This means something more, and the thought both excites her and terrifies her completely.

He lets her hand slip from his, her eyes wide and sparkling with mesmeric emotions underneath the shadow of dark eyelashes, her lips plush, parted and swollen from his kisses, her chest heaving from the stolen breaths he took from her.

He thinks, no, he _knows,_ that she is the most beautiful thing he's ever and will ever experience.

He leans back down to capture her lips in a slow, chaste kiss, pouring all of his uncertainties and want for her into it, all of his feelings of restraint and loyalty, all of it consumed by her tender lips.

He trails more kisses down her jaw, his hands wandering to the place above her belly button, fingers barely brushing the underside of her breast.

He feels her shiver beneath him, and he motions to brush his lips against her earlobe, trapping it in-between teeth, a very indulgent and comforting voice lulling her insecurity.

"You're so beautiful."

He then feels her exhale shakily, as she takes her own hands and guides his to cup her awaiting breasts, before letting her hands slip back down to her sides.

"Please…" Clarke whispers pleadingly, a recurring blush blossoming her usually pale face.

She'd always been so confident with her looks and her body, but with Bellamy it was different.

She wanted him to accept and even _like_ all the flaws and imperfections, she wanted him to think she was appealing to the eyes, which was a silly thought of course, since he wouldn't be touching her like this if he didn't find her attractive.

But then she hears his reassurance and all her doubts flutter away, and she melts against his massaging fingertips.

He kneads her breasts in his calloused hands, the rough patches scratching against her smooth skin in a pleasurable way, and she sighs at the bittersweet sensation.

He drags his tongue from twirling around her earlobe, to the dip of her collarbone. He shifts, moving slightly down so he could press the pad of his tongue to the mounds of her left breast, ghosting the tip teasingly around the outline of her hardened nipples. She bites her lip impatiently, beginning to subtly grind her bundle of nerves against his throbbing heat, egging him on.

He groans, before latching his mouth around her nipple, encasing it in a hot wet heat. His tongue lavishes it with a quick swirl, his teeth sinking in just a bit, and he smirks at the breathless gasps her receives. He flicks the tip with his tongue repeatedly, and then claiming it with a harsh suck.

"Ah!" She sighs, throwing her head back against the pillow, dragging her fingers roughly through his mess of curls, scratching at his scalp. She arches her back to press even more of herself into his mouth, muttering his name uncontrollably.

Clarke is out right grinding now, her fingers releasing the grip of his hair to move back to the place of his waistband, fumbling hastily at the button of his jeans.

He latches onto her other neglected nipple, his fingers pinching and rolling the one her just abandoned, giving attention to both, smugly appreciative of the way it caused the spew of moans to run off Clarke's tongue.

She finally manages to pop the button with trembling fingertips, pulling down the zipper immediately after, before letting her curious hand grip the outline of his cock through his boxers.

"Fuck." He mutters against the tender flesh of her breast, his arm going out to pick up his weight as he shifts up off her, backing up on his knees to let her slither out from underneath him. She smiles innocently as she moves with him, sitting up on her knees in front of him, her hair clinging to her neck and shoulders.

She tugs eagerly on fabric of his boxers, her bottom lip getting caught between her teeth as she pushes the material down, his erection practically flinging out from the confines.

She stiffens a giggle, as he furiously tries to kick off his jeans and boxers, grumbling at the heat threatening to redden his cheeks as the clothing drops discarded onto the floor, next to the forgotten blankets.

This was different, so _personal_, and with anyone else, Bellamy is anything but shy.

But underneath her curious stare directed to his pulsing and nearly throbbing cock, he can begin to feel a fluttery, butterflies sensation fluctuate in his stomach.

She's seen only one other in her life, which is quite surprising with her mother being a doctor and having to deal with infected problems revolving around that area, but she had never witnessed any of _those,_ since her mother would never in a million years let her see one, let alone cop a feel or explore the mysteries about it.

As silly as it sounded, she had only a quick glimpse of Fin's before he was rummaging his indecency into her, and that wasn't much.

It's only natural to be _curious_, so when she inspects the throbbing vein underneath the mushroom head, it's completely innocent. She doesn't mean to tease.

She lightly traces the dark head with her index finger, tilting her head to the side in wonder at the moist tip. She trails her fingers down the thick length, absentmindedly wondering how it could be so soft yet firm.

"You're killing me, Princess."

She flicks her gaze up at Bellamy, her eyes meeting his tense face, realizing too late that this was probably torture for him.

His eyes were exceedingly murky and lustful, his jaw tightening and his hands clenched at his sides to stop them from fisting her sun kissed hair and pulling her head down onto him.

She blushes, feeling another wave of heat come over her and practically drown her, her thighs clamping tight to relieve some of the pressure there. Surprisingly she doesn't stop, her eye still locked with his as she motions downwards, her lips barely being pressed to the head of his cock.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat that causes her to experimentally dip her tongue out and taste him for the first time.

"Agh... Clarke…"

This only encourages her further, her eyes fluttering closed as she begins to slowly take him into her warm mouth, her tongue swirling around the side of his length, the wetness coating the head in its embrace.

Instantaneously he can't handle it anymore, his hands lunging into her golden chaos of hair, gripping the strands gently as he pushes her head down gradually and not with much force.

"Suck harder." He grunts, her cheeks hallowing at his command and adding more suction, her head bobbing up and down with the guidance of his hand.

Clarke feels heat rush down between her legs at the sound of his primal tone, one of her hands creeping in-between her legs, rubbing her finger along the tender skin of her outer lips, moistening the digit while plunging it inside her.

She moans against his cock, the hum sending vibrations around him and he presses her further down his length, motioning his head to the back of her throat. He can't see her touching herself, but knows she is just by the way she keeps moaning around his sensitive head.

"Fuck… you naughty girl."

He growls out, thrusting his hips towards her mouth urgently, the coil inside threatening to snap underneath the pressure, and he knows he can't hold out much longer.

"Clarke…C-Clarke wait." He tries pushing her shoulder so she'd stop, but it's a weak shove and she barely moves, determinedly taking all of him down her throat and moving at a quicker speed, her own hand brushing against her nub again and again, as she feels so terribly close as well.

Just as her cry becomes muffled by his cock and her fingers still inside her, the walls clamping down tightly and refusing to let go of the digits, his head throws back as he moans her name, releasing into her willing mouth helplessly.

She quickly tries gulping it down, and shivers at the unfamiliar taste.

She sits up, wiping the drip of cum of her chin with her finger, and brings it into her mouth, tasting the unique flavor once again.

He almost comes again at the sight of this erotic display, her eyebrows furrowed and her pretty face set in a distinct look of inquiring. She pulls out the finger with a 'pop,' and glances at him embarrassed; blinking at the way his dark brown eyes churned with a desire to consume, and simply stated, "It tastes sort of odd."

She doesn't have a moment to think before he lunges at her, his mouth latching onto hers demanding, his tongue plunging into her mouth and tangling with hers frantically.

He pushes her back down underneath him, nestling himself in-between her legs comfortably. She willingly submits, hungrily kissing him back, her hands crossing behind his back and pressing him closer.

Bellamy has both of his hands beside her head, holding his weight up as he pulls back and detaches his thirsting lips from hers.

He manages to keep his weight off her as he moves one hand to wrap around his shaft, positioning his head to hover above her already weeping lips, nudging himself against her bud of nerves before rubbing his head against her wet and ready slit, listening approvingly to the mews of the sun kissed beauty beneath him.

He lets out a little grunt of his own as he glances to her, his eyes searching frantically for approval as he whispers gently, "Are you sure?"

She tries to speak but has been hindered the ability to do so at the way he kept grazing his throbbing heat against her core. Instead she nods quickly, trying at least to force out her reply through quivering lips.

"M-more sure than I have ever been, about anything."

He smiles, an immense, genuine smile that causes her heart to beat even faster and her hands to feel all clammy and her toes to curl, and she is also sure she has never seen him look just as happy.

And suddenly, when he presses the thick head of his cock into her cautiously and eagerly, she realizes that she's never been this happy, too.

She gasps, her hips pressing down to greet his, her legs tangling behind him to push him further into her. Their completely intertwined, and even if it hurts a little bit at her trying to adapt and welcome his oncoming thickness nudging deeper inside her, she feels completely enthralled in pleasure. She tightens her hold around his shoulders, her mouth pressing to his just as slowly as he inches into her delving heat.

It's less urgent than any other kiss they have shared, yet still as passionate and sweet. She moans loudly into his mouth as he pulls completely out and swiftly thrusts back in, her fingernails created half-moons onto his shoulder blades and her walls clenching tightly around his throbbing length.

He pulls back and nuzzles his head in the crook of her neck, grunting out, "you're so fucking tight," and a, "feels so good."

He repeats the process of slowly motioning out and snapping his hips back towards hers, plunging himself deeper and deeper inside her pulsating heat. He notices with deep satisfaction at how wet she is, the sound of slapping skin echoing about the room, intertwined with loud moans and rough grunts.

He traps her earlobe between his teeth, continuing his string of dirty talk that would make even a whore blush, his thrusts quickening in pace steadily as he slightly shifts, hitting precisely her g-spot directly.

"Bellamy! Oh _god_!" She practically screams, thrashing her head to the side, rewarding him with more access to the flesh of her neck as she unravels around him, her orgasm wracking through her body like electricity. Specks of black flicker behind her eyelids and she can practically see stars, her mind throw into whirlwind of bliss and absolute ecstasy.

Her walls fluttering and then clamping tightly around him, seeming to pull him in deeper while her nails scrape down, leaving trails of pink against his tan broad back that would probably remain until the next morning. He puts an arm underneath her back and pushes her against his him, her hard dusky nipples grazing his bare chest as he groans deeply into her neck, the tightness of her clutching around him as he continues his accelerating stamina, shoving deep and pulling back out, again, again, and again.

She's rocking her hips to his while he manages to hit that same spot over and over, her eyes half hooded as the open just a bit to take in his tense expression and the drip of sweat cascading down the side of his cheek. Feeling watched, he opens his eyes suddenly, perceiving the sultry gaze directed towards him as he jerks forward, the pressure of an impending release weighing in his chest.

"I... I can't hold out much longer."

He mutters thickly, his eyes glazing over as his movements become less and less thought-out and deliberate, transitioning to that of sloppy and increasingly quick thrusts.

She leans next to his ear, her teeth nipping at the tip of it, little moans and whimpers roaming past her lips as she whispers breathlessly, "you don't have too."

At the arrival of her words he groans low in his throat, burying himself deep inside her as he releases, his throbbing cock encased in the constriction of her walls, his arm still wrapped around her waist tightening as he smashes his lips against hers once again.

The feeling is indescribable and he's never felt so alive, so devoid of fear or worry or anything else, his only focus being the outrageously wonderful women underneath him and the way she feels closer than anyone has ever been to him before.

And then he collapses on top of her, and she doesn't really mind the weight since it's just another reminder that he's here and he's been here with her for as long as they have known each other.

She never wants it any other way.

He finally slips out from her heat and lies beside her panting for air, chest heaving and heart thudding so fast that when she presses her head to his chest and her ear to the precious place of his heart, she can hear it. She shivers at the loss of contact, curling up right next to his side, both of them trying to steady their breathing.

He's staring at the ceiling with his hands threaded in her locks absentmindedly, a bit astonished that everything that just occurred even took place.

She begins to come back to reality too, but she refuses to look at him, instead closing her eyes and listening to the thumping of his heart, the most comforting sound she has ever heard.

"Clarke."

She knows he wants her to look at him, for her to accept what they have just done and to figure out what to do, but for the first time she doesn't want to negotiate, she doesn't want to solve the 'problem.'

She just, wants to stay like this for a while.

Which is completely selfish, and the thought of him feeling like he had an obligation to do this passes through her mind. She bites her lip, not knowing what to do with these sudden _feelings_ for her partner, not knowing what to do about simply _not knowing what to do._

Which isn't something she's used to; she always knows what to say and what to do, even in the worst of situations and the worst of times.

But this is _different,_ things are _different_ now.

Should she savor the feeling of contentment, or simply be afraid of it?

Can't she be selfish and just want Bellamy?

"Clarke I… listen that was just-… I don't know what came over me."

She closes her eyes tightly and sighs, trying to ignore the sting of his remorseful words.

And suddenly she's angry, and he notices it immediately by the way she tenses and moves to get up.

He scrambles into a sitting position, watching helplessly as she gathers her discarded clothing, slipping it on one piece at a time.

She feels the prick of tears behind her eyes, and a certain heaviness seems to weigh her her heart to the pit of her stomach.

She refuses to spare him a glance as he quickly follows up on his indecisive words.

"You took that the wrong way."

She ignores him while hastily pulling up her pants, buttoning them up with trembling fingertips as she tilts her head down, letting her blonde untamed hair act as a curtain, shielding his view from her vulnerable expression.

"Clarke, I-…"

She throws her head back and tries to smile at him, instead it contorting to more of a sneer.

"Knocking helps."

And with that she whirls around, flinging the door open and slamming it behind her, leaving a very naked and very disheveled Bellamy atop her bed.

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><p><strong>AN: This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I still have a few ideas buzzing in my mind. Do you guys think this should be it, or should I continue? Please review and tell me if you liked it. It's my first real smut, so be gentle on me. **

**Review review review tell me what to do**

**End it like this or continue?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Okay guys, I'm back! I am so, absolutely delighted at how many of you told me to continue! I am so grateful for everyone of you for reviewing and reading, and I want to thank you! I wasn't positive if I should have left it like it was, but then I thought, heck no!**

**But, I must warn you that since I am continuing this, that things will get outright dirty. Like, really, really. Haha. Which is super fun to write, but I just wanted to tell ya'll that.**

**(WARNING: angry angry angry angry)**

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><p>I am the fierce desire you couldn't consume<p>

I am the flower that you refused to let bloom

I am the sweetness lingering in your sheets

I am the dead end to all your streets

I am the comfort you sought to get

I am the touches of passion you can't forget

I am the trembling misery withering away in your heart

I am the truth in lies you could never tell apart

I am the sorrow in the tears you bitterly cry

I am the love that you let die.

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><p>It had been three days since marching out of her <em>own <em>cabin, receiving the bewildered looks of many of her fellow peers with her whirlwind of sun kissed curls and littered love bites overwhelming her neck.

Three days since an inside-out shirt and tangled bra straps.

Three days since the gossip first began, consuming the camp like wild fire.

Three days since hiding away in some chick's tent, refusing to face a parading flustered Bellamy that had stomped out of her door without a shirt on.

__Three days_ _since speaking to Bellamy Blake.

_Three days_ since having _sex_ with Bellamy Blake.

_Three goddamn days._

She plans to avoid him for the rest of eternity if possible, maybe take off one of these nights and make a grand trip to Camp Jaha where her loving mother would embrace her with loving arms and a sweet, blissful ignorance.

Marry a nice guy named Joe and have three kids, maybe even have a three eyed, mutated bunny as a pet.

Okay, so maybe she was _over exaggerating,_ but she's never been more humiliated in her whole life.

It's one thing to be caught doing something not-so-innocent, another to engage in a not-so-innocent act with your co-leader and partner, and _another_ to be outright rejected afterwards.

If that even was rejection, she didn't really know, but she didn't want to stick around and hear the excruciatingly awkward conversation of, "let's just pretend I didn't fuck you silly and possibly have feelings for you."

Or maybe he'd lecture her with, "I felt like an obligation to fuck you silly since you were in fact moaning my name beforehand, and I really regret doing so because _blah, blah, blah_."

She knows she's pissing him off with her constant aversion, avoiding him like he's the plague; every time he even comes in a twenty foot proximity she makes a break for it.

Literally.

The other day she outwardly _flew_ out of the medical bay, even though she was in the process of fixing up some unfortunate kid's busted thumb, at the mere mention of an approaching Bellamy.

It's becoming quite pathetic how embarrassed she is, not even being able to sleep in the same bed without thinking of tangling tongues and greeting hips, and Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy.

Who does he think he is anyways?

Not having the decency to even knock, barging in and doing _that,_ and then having the outright audacity to voice his grief?

Couldn't he wait until he actually left her cabin and was far away from her presence to be vocal about his utter disinterest?

And who said she was interested anyways?

Oh wait. She did say she _wanted_ him, but that doesn't mean she meant it or anything, not that she was in denial or anything silly like that, because really-

"Clarke."

Clarke whips her head up from blatantly glaring at pieces of seaweed; her hands in the process of unconsciously tearing the poor green plant to shreds, her face transitioning to a menacing scowl and creased forehead to that of surprise.

Octavia stands before her with a popped out hip and a hand resting against it, her face scrunched up in a look of pure concern for the dazed blonde.

"What's up with you and my brother?" The dark haired girl with sapphire jewel eye's states, the words coming out more of a demand than a question.

The sun kissed beauty manages to regain her composure after a moment too late, her eyes flickering back to the abused sea green strips discarded into the basket beneath her quivering fingertips.

She returns hastily to the procedure of ripping them up mercilessly, her lips curling downwards in a bitter scowl.

"Nothing's going on with me and Bellamy." She spits his name out like its poison, flinching a bit at her own livid tone, sighing subtly under her breath as she shakes her head, jumbling and neglecting the thought of his name, not too long ago being chanted breathlessly from her lips.

She cringes at the memory.

Octavia raises an eyebrow at the plethora of emotions rummaging rapidly through the other girl's expression and defeated body language.

"Doesn't seem like nothing to me. He's been berating everyone in camp, getting all pissy about everything. Yesterday he yelled at some poor kid for nailing a door hinge wrong."

Clarke bites her lip, somewhat shamefully pleased at the thought of Bellamy being as distraught as her. She shrugs halfheartedly, scoffing a bit as she makes quick work of organizing the gauze from the bandages.

"How does that even have anything to do with me?"

She states impudently and unintentionally irritably, persistently withholding her stubbornness in not encountering the intimidating younger girl's gaze.

Octavia rolls her eyes dimly aggravated, her fingers grasping the blonde's wrist with a firm clasp and spinning her around on her heel, Octavia's stern glance stumbling upon Clarke's flustered appearance.

Clarke sinks a little in her shoes uncomfortably underneath Octavia's prying inspection.

"He's only ever decent when you two are on good terms. Whenever you guys fight, he acts like he's got a stick wedged up his ass."

Octavia states as if it's as obvious as grass being the color green, her thin eyebrow remaining rose in an insightful and intrusive state, promptly reminding Clarke of an older Blake's similar expression.

Octavia's eyes drift from Clarke's bluish green orbs of uncertainty to the patches of purplish blue littering her neck, and gasps.

"Oh my God! You _slept_ with my brother!"

It's a blur of movements, Clarke's hand flying to the place of Octavia's rambling rose petal lips, clamping down snugly in crucial urgency, both girl's eyes widening in size and eyebrows rising up in disoriented bafflement.

Octavia's muffled mumbles tickle the pad of Clarke's hand, as the golden haired girl anxiously tries to scramble out a rushed explanation.

"No, no, no. That's definitely _not_ it! I got these from- um," Clarke begins, the side of her peripheral vison noticing a straw haired and sun burnt male, leaning against the wall of the medical bay leisurely. "Greg."

She purses her lips and tries desperately to steady her voice.

"Bellamy's in a bad mood because he's stressed out about… our decreasing supply of water."

Clarke attempts to suppress a flinch at the sound of herself fumbling around in her own lies. Octavia relaxes against Clarke's palm, her line of sight directed over the blonde's shoulder, the flabbergasted surprise departing her tense bones in a soft exhale.

The blonde's hand slips from the other girl's lips, not even trying to conceal her relieved facial features, the crease between her eyebrows smoothed out and her lips quirking upwards a bit.

"Okay, I believe you, but not because you're convincing. I just saw him go into his cabin with Susan."

Octavia rolls her eyes again out of pure habit, partly too distracted at her own internal disgust at the quick mental image of her brother having sex, to even notice the drop of Clarke's jaw.

Clarke spins around in place quick enough to give her a sudden whiplash, almost wanting to believe her eyes were betraying her as she witnessed in fact a slim brunette being guided into a certain somebody's tent by the small of her back.

_**Oh fuck no**__._

Clarke can't even think rationally at the disturbing display, her heart bursting into ferocious flames of envy that lick the insides of her stomach and consume her vision with an angry red.

She can almost feel smoke coming out of her nostrils and ears.

_Who the actual fuck does he think he is?!_

_It's only been three days!_

_Didn't it mean anything at all?!_

_Did he think she was some slut, that he could just have meaningless sex with her and toss her to the side?_

Her mind is screaming infuriated, making her a bit lightheaded at the pounding in her temples and the building heaviness forming in her heart.

She feels like a fool, an outright fool for getting herself thrown into a tornado of feelings and absolute _jealousy_, not believing that she could be so stupid.

She doesn't notice Octavia calling out her name behind her, her feet moving without her mind really processing the action.

She doesn't know why she feels so betrayed or so fucking angry, but she does know this.

**_Bellamy Blake was a dead man._**

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><p><strong>AN: Phew! I know it's short, but woohoo I got all excited writing it. **

**Review and tell me what you think Clarke's gunna do!**

**(and what is that dummy Bellamy doing psh)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Wow. This will be my Christmas present to you! Sorry for the delayed wait, I've been steadily updating every day and since it's barely Christmas I will be busy for a little while! This chapter was absolutely amazingly fun to write, and I can't wait to see the response!**

**Again, thank you so much for your continued support and reviews. I swear that sometimes I want to stop writing, and then I see your guys encouragement and I just write, write, write!**

**A bit of a WARNING, this chapter is freaking dirty.**

**LOL**

**ENJOY~**

**(sorry for any little mistakes, I tried to catch them all when proof reading)**

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><p>As consuming as fire and as drowning as the sea<p>

As overwhelming as desire and as delirious as jealousy

Just as the line between sober and drunk is slurred

The line between lust and loneliness is blurred

And yes, I find sweet comfort in your pain

Your loathing is a drug pumping through my veins

As temporary as a bruise and as permanent as a scar

As pointless as an excuse and as hopeless as a shooting star

Just as the line between grudges and forgiveness is judged

The line between hate and love is smudged

And yes, I feel remorse for your pain

But to tell you that, I'd have to be certified insane

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><p>He doesn't know what he's doing.<p>

Isn't this what he always does when it comes to his problems?

If he can't fix them, then he finds distractions.

This wasn't what he was intending to do; he wasn't intentionally trying to escape his impending issues with Clarke by having sex with someone else.

But the slender, tan brunette with high cheek bones and sharp features felt differently.

What was her name again?

Suzie? Sarah? Surely it started with an 'S.'

Not that it really mattered what her name was anyways, just as long as she makes him forget about a certain blonde.

"Oh Bellamy, I've wanted to do this for such a long time. You're so sexy and I want you to fuck me so badly-…"

The Brunette's voice slithers into the shell of his ear, her already shirtless upper body pressing uncomfortably into his, her bra clad breasts deliberately pushed against his front, her arm coiling around his neck as she continues her bombardment of meaningless confessions in a lethargic, sultry tone.

Bellamy finds it increasingly difficult to pay attention to the slur of words, the syllables unnervingly parallel to another conversation, his mind becoming entangled in the web of plush parting lips and a residing breathless whisper.

_"I… I just wanted you… that's why. Bellamy."_

He shakes his head full of vigorous curls aggravated, his muscular arm encasing her slim waist and pulling her flush against his toned chest even more so than before, his lips crashing aggressively on her still rambling ones.

His eyes close shut tightly as he intertwines his calloused fingers into her chocolate tresses, his mind sifting through mental images of wavy strands of gold that glitter against rays of sunlight, and he attempts helplessly to rid the persistent thoughts by smothering his frustration against the tenderness of her neck.

She doesn't mind his reckless behavior, instead responding instantaneously with her own ferocious movements, her fingers fumbling hurriedly with unbuttoning his jeans, her consistent clutter of indecencies passing past her lips in disarray.

**SLAM.**

They pull apart immediately at the abrupt sound coming from the entrance of the cabin, the brunette's purple bra strap in mid-process of cascading down the bronzed skin of her shoulder, her mane wildly tangled and in a distressed state due to his frantic fingertips as she gets up on her tip-toes to glance over his broad shoulder.

Her half-hooded eyes widen, her relaxed and agile bones tensing instantly as if she had just gotten electrified, her lips pulled in to kiss her teeth, an expression of epiphany engulfing her appealing features.

Her slim front is fortunately being shielded behind his back; as he grudgingly follows the suddenly shell-shocked girl's line of vision irritably, his head tilting as he spares a swift glance behind him.

Standing right there, encountering his taken aback countenance with an outright furious glare is no one other than the object of his desire.

Clarke Griffin.

She's got neglected blood smudged over the side of her flushed cheek as well as right underneath the corner of her left eye, her nose all scrunched up in disgust as if she's caught a waft of a fowl scent, a deep crease forming on the usually smooth skin of her forehead.

Her small diligent hands are balled into clenched, white knuckled fists, a scowl dipping the curves of her tulip petal lips downwards, her turquoise orbs captivating enraged waves like those of the sea, her ominous glower narrowed onto him.

He scoffs stubbornly and halfheartedly, dismissing the feeling of his skin crawling underneath her prolonged stare as he shifts his attention back to the dazed girl still encased in the bend of his arm.

"Ever heard of knocking?"

She can't see him smirking but she knows he is, just by the smug, self-righteous way he says those words, laced with so much irony and sarcasm it hits her like a smack to the face.

Her back straightens as she stands up out of her slight slouch, her shoulders taunt as she mutters though clenched teeth, her eyes straying from the back of his head to the doe-eyed girl cowering behind his shoulder.

"Get out."

It's simple and straight to the point, a grave indifference seeping into the dispute. The brunette's eyes flicker to Bellamy's, then back to Clarke's. She shrinks into herself as she gently shoves past his shoulder, scrambling to clutch her discarded shirt on the floor alongside his dirtied, black combat boots and fiddles with her twisted bra strap.

Her reddened cheeks and cautious, wary eyes never drifting from her rushed feet as she sidesteps Clarke and makes her clumsy way to the exit self-consciously and sheepishly, her head hung low as she mumbles a quiet apology while closing the door softly behind her departing body.

There's a tense silence that stretches like fog between the two, his jaw tightening as he flings a smirk to her over his shoulder, his hand raking through his misbehaving locks exasperatedly, his back to her still.

She feels the coolness of metal seeping through her back pocket, and presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek impatiently.

"Well, you didn't have to kick the poor girl out."

He sighs out mockingly, plopping down on the side of his bed with a contorted smile and a roll of his eyes, his arms pushed out behind him to hold his upper body upright. His head tilts up so he could latch onto her glare, his eyebrows furrowing as he notices the blonde's hasty footsteps hastily coming closer towards him.

"Clarke I-…"

He's brusquely cut off by the immense pressure of a rough kiss, her hands gripping the front of his shirt as she pulls him nearer, her back leaned over and her head slanted to the side as she continues her barrage of harsh kisses, her teeth nipping at the tender flesh of his bottom lip, rewarding a growl from deep in his throat.

His wide and surprised eyes gradually drooping as he pulls her on top of him, her knees on either side of his thighs as she plants herself on his lap, his hands trailing to the golden sea of waves that is her hair, embracing the back of her head as he responses vigorously, his lips parting to allow her access to the wonders of his mouth, her tongue tangling with his in vicious battle.

She breaks the kiss only to tug on the bottom of his shirt and he expeditiously obliges, his hands tugging at the collar of his shirt behind his neck as he pulls it over his head in one swift motion.

Her eyes waver and descend to his bare chest, his taunt muscles sculpted and tanned from hard labor and the sweltering sun, and she unconsciously pulls her bottom lip in-between her teeth.

His own eyes admire the slope of her nose and the lone freckle placed above her tempting lips, and he has this undeniable urge to caress her face and gently wipe the splattered blood on her cheek away.

Her hands descend upon his shoulders only to ghostly slither down the front of his chest, pressing to his chest roughly and shoving him down onto his back.

A surprised gasp of air makes it past his lips as his head bounces a bit in place from the abrupt landing, and he looks at her skeptically and partially amused.

She straddles his hips firmly, before promptly hauling her own shirt over her head, her fingers scrambling to the clamp of her bra.

He studies her in quaint fascination, the rough pad of his calloused fingertips grazing the waistband of her jeans to the delicate skin of her hips to the dip of her waist, motioning to her shoulders to help pull down the straps of her bra tormenting slow.

The familiar ache embraces her heart with its prying clutch, her lips quivering as the waves of betrayal flush through and drown her.

_She refuses to be someone's second best._

_She refuses to be used, and tossed aside._

_It's happened once before, and it isn't going to happen again._

_Especially not with Bellamy…_

_Never with Bellamy._

His freckled hands cup her now unconfined, round and large breasts in a tender embrace, his thumbs brushing the peaks of her dusky nipples teasingly.

She arches her back into his touch yearningly, her breath coming out in short pants at the tantalizingly sweet sensation, her hands pressed flat against his chest with her fingers sprawled, her nails drawing invisible scribbles of swirls around the precious place of his heart.

He pinches the hardened tip, rolling it in-between his index finger and his thumb, his other hand kneading the soft flesh of her other breast, it fitting snugly in his hand.

She mews, the sound like a sweet melody to his ears, her eyelids drooping as she leans further into him, deliberately grinding against his growing arousal.

She takes one of his wrists in her hand, pulling it away from her breast gradually as she moves it to the side of them, closer to the headboard of the bed, her other hand motioning to her back pocket mischievously to grasp something solid and metal.

He furrows his eyebrows as he watches her curiously, fully allowing her to pull his arm straight and move his wrist effortlessly, his head tilting to the side as he inspects her facial expression, her tongue pushed to the side of her mouth and poking out past her lips determinately.

He's too captivated by the way her hair cascades down her front in a river of gold and how much his fingers ached to run through it, to notice the cool embrace of metal around his wrist, only being pulled out of his trance by a small, insignificant noise.

Click.

His eyes dart to the place of his confined wrist, handcuffed securely to the carved wood of an improvised headboard.

"Clarke, what the hell?"

He glances back to her quickly, his eyebrows shot up in surprise as his wrist squirms about in the closed encasement of metal.

She smirks, a devilishly bitter smirk that makes his stomach churn and his hands to become clammy.

"Careful. You might hurt your wrist if you keep doing that," She says, her voice dripping with sarcasm and mock concern.

He narrows his eyes at her, trying to decipher her motives as she begins fiddling with the button of his jeans, pulling down the zipper tantalizingly slow and apathetically.

"What are you playing at, Princess? Think I'm going to run away? Last time I checked, it was you who did the running away part."

His voice is an octave lower than usual, making sure to emphasize the word 'you,' for good measure.

She glances back to him with an intense and penetrating glare, her lips quirking upwards in an attempted smile as she lifts herself up and off his lap, standing up in front of him only to swiftly drag his jeans and boxers down in one hurried motion.

"I don't think you're in any position to complain, now are you, Bellamy?"

She drops down onto her knees in front of him, nuzzling herself in-between the space of his legs. He lifts his upper body up enable to look at her, cursing under his breath at the metal digging into his wrist at the sudden movement.

They latch eye contact, and she doesn't waste time in dipping her tongue out and swirling it around her index finger, glazing it with the wetness and suction of her mouth before pulling it out with a 'pop.'

He licks his lips, his heart accelerating in pace as his blood rushes to places farther south.

She leisurely lets her finger skim the shaft of his cock teasingly in a bitter-sweet torment, her eyes never leaving his, as he tries to suppress a shiver from running up his spine.

His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare in the most wondrous way, his other hand not currently being constrained moving to clamp down onto her shoulder.

She allows a genuine smile break through as she admires the way his dick seems to twitch underneath her fingertip, the soft flesh becoming firm despite his best efforts to derail a boner.

"I think you like it... I mean, it sure seems like you like it."

She states amused, her fingers curling around the base of his cock in a gentle grasp, her lips drawing closer to the tip.

"Oh shut u- ah!"

Her mouth encases the head of his hard cock in wet heat to as she quickly takes as much as she can in one go, her eyes flickering to his face.

His head tilting back and his eyes fluttering closed at the vast pleasure riveting through his senses at the feeling of her tongue swirling around his head before she plunges back down quickly.

His fingers get tangled into the shimmering strands of her hair as he gently nudges her head lower, his hips threatening to buck enable to push his aching cock further down her throat.

She succeeds in taking all of his length in her mouth, the tip brushing the back of her throat as her nose nuzzles his curls, before she swiftly comes back up and slams back down, tilting her head to the side to get a better angle as she begins bobbing her head up and down as quickly as she can possibly manage.

"Fuck… Clarke."

She tries to suppress a smirk at the sound of his quivering voice, the jingle of his wrist straining against its confines intermixing with his harsh breathing and small grunts.

His hips jerk up irresistibly and she has to press one of her hands down against his thighs to keep him still and steady, her lips clamping down snugger around him, her other hand creeping down near his sack curiously, her gentle finger tips brushing the overly sensitive skin.

"C-Clarke! Shit. Don't… Don't touch there…"

He shakily begs, the metal digging into the flesh of his wrist as he tenses, his hips jolting towards her mouth uncontrollably, the feeling of her tickling fingers and the wet heat of her mouth overriding his senses, his impending release threatening to give way.

_So close._

"I'm going to…Fuck…Don't stop-…"

But then she does.

Her head jerks back and his hand interwoven in the strands of her hair slides out helplessly, his eyes blinking open at the sudden loss of contact.

She gets up from her knees and begins to pick up her discarded bra, slipping her arms through the straps and clasping it, the look on her face unreadable.

"Clarke, what-… what are you doing?"

He says breathlessly, the blood still pumping to his cock causing him to be slightly lightheaded, the pounding of his heart reverberating in his ears.

She slips on her shirt over her head, a small mischievous smile quirking the corner of her lips as she smirks over to him.

He's vulnerably naked, handcuffed to the headboard of the bed, his dick still upright and erect, his eyebrows furrowed and his murky eyes locked in a haze, a sheen of glistening sweat casing his tan skin.

For a split moment she feels a shred of sympathy, but it bubbles into prideful satisfaction.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure Susan gets the key to the handcuffs," She states with a counterfeit kind, toothy smile, and her blue eyes brighten with mischief and a flash of hurt as she pulls out a shiny key from her back pocket, presenting it cheerfully for his disbelieving eyes.

His eyes widen in realization when he sees the key, and suddenly his restrained wrist lurches against the tightly closed shackle as he attempts to break it furiously.

"What the fuck!"

She bursts out laughing, the ridiculous display absolutely humorous as she turns on her heel and quickly opens the door.

She hears him below out, "Clarke, so help me, if you leave I swear I'll-…"

But it's too late, and she's already slamming the door closed behind her with a, 'humph,' biting the inside of her cheek to contain her smug smile as she scampers off with a hasty stride away from his cabin, all the while hearing his angry yells and curses residing behind her.

She feels inquisitive gazes on the back of her head, but she does her best to act blissfully ignorant.

_Revenge never felt so good._

_She'd have to thank Miller for the handcuffs later._

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><p><strong>AN: HAHAHAHHAHAH. I'm still laughing over this chapter. I can just imagine Bellamy yelling after her, stuck to a bed all nude. HAHAHAHAHAHHA**

**And Clarke walking off like a boss, like woohoo.**

**ANYWAYS. leave a review and tell me what you think! Surely Bellamy is going to get her back, am I right?**

**Review review review**

**A merry merry Christmas and happy holidays to you!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey guys! I hope you had a great Christmas or any other holiday you may celebrate! and if you don't celebrate anything, hope you had a couple of good non-holiday days! **

**I know this was the longest wait between updates, and since I've been busy with my Grandparents coming over and Christmas and all, it was difficult to find time to write. But anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

**Thank you so so so so much for the continued support! I really appreciate all the feedback and every single one of you whom takes a little portion of their time to leave me a review; thank you so much, you make my day!**

**WARNING (a-w-k-w-a-r-d)**

**_BTW: This chapter was inspired by the song, "Supersoaker," by Kings of Leon._ **

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><p>Sunlight is trickling in through the filthy panels of his windowsill, an unfortunate reminder of the heat descending upon his shoulders, the same heat that causes the damp sweat to intermingle with his dark curly locks; the swirly strands become matted against his glistening forehead.<p>

Maybe he did deserve this.

But it's thoughts like that, that makes him feel even more aggravated.

Leave it to her to make him second guess any decision he makes.

Of course, it had been a completely impulsive decision, much like the mistake he made with Raven. It had been an easy outlet for all the feelings he didn't know how to handle, the feelings he didn't know what to do with, the feelings he didn't know where to put.

It's always been simple enough to manifest all of his feelings into different outlets, all his anger through physical violence and spiteful words, all his affection through Octavia, all of his quivering fear and remorse through self-loathing.

All of his loneliness through pointless sex.

But had it been loneliness that had caused him to act irrationally when it came to Clarke? When he caressed her body and kissed her tenderly, a vital action that he didn't know he was even capable of doing? Had it just been loneliness?

He knows she holds in her pain and loneliness, shoves it down and condenses it in the pit of her gut until she forget it's there. He knows by the way she often hugs herself in the midst of difficult decisions and disastrous situations, the way she cradles herself in a way of comfort.

A habit she had picked up since Finn's death.

He can't deny that there weren't times his fingers twitched, an almost magnetic force pulling him towards her, a deep urge to envelope her in his arms and will the uncertainty away.

But he always had such self-control, his feet seemingly shackled to the ground refusing to go closer than necessary, not daring to cross that unsaid boundary that had developed between them over the course of death and numerous trials.

There's a space kept between them, to protect them from attachment, from the ache that comes from waking up every day fearing your loved one's safety; something in which he only knew how to deal with when it came to Octavia.

In all their subtle touches and quick glances, it always lingers there.

It's a strict understanding that lies beneath the relationship that they had created, a distance that extended especially after the loss of Finn and many others.

It's an unnerving pain that wallowed in the deep trenches of her soul, a push and pull like an ocean tide.

But he doesn't know that inner struggle of hers very well.

They were close in a sense of friendship, in a leadership professional state, in only a way that portrayed their importance to each other but never to the point of desperate _need_, that went past a need of mutual encouragement and dependency.

A _need_ that craved something more than simplicity, a _need _that sought out more than a curt nod and a quick couple words of reassurance.

A _need _that desired passion, a _need_ that yearned a mind shattering physical touch that would disperse any fear that resided inside their hearts, a _need_ that longed for words of affirmation that would stitch the sides of their voids back together, a _need_ that ached for _love_.

A kind of _love_ that flourished and consumed, a _love_ that tended to the weary and mended broken paths, a _love_ that healed, a _love _that could achieve the rarity of joy in a forsaken world.

But that kind of _need_, or that kind of _love_, is something they both couldn't risk at a time like this.

Sure, things had settled down and there was a waft of happiness sashaying through the air, a new found peace that settled the anxieties of many of their people, but-

That didn't necessarily mean there was a certain time and place for _love_.

It didn't mean he could be capable of loving Clarke, a woman that just began opening herself up again, a woman whom was tough as nails and as strong as armor.

A woman whom had a kind and sensitive heart nested in all the walls she had to build up.

He felt guilt drop in his stomach, the kind of guilt that intensified and disbursed any other rational thought, a guilt that penetrated everything, all thinking being affected by the whiplash of guilt, it being like a poison seeping through his veins.

He had saw it, that little flicker of hurt that flashed through her turquoise eyes, before becoming scuffed out and hidden, pushed down so far in her gut that she would in turn, forget it was even there.

He hates it, he hates the fact that he had managed to fuck up so badly.

He hates that he was the bad guy in this situation when he had felt an inkling of hurt as well, having witnessed her scurry to the door leaving him alone, and blatantly avoiding him like he was a sickness prepared to pry into her skin.

He hates that even though he feels guilty, he also feels so outrageously frustrated and angry that he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He rakes his freckled fingertips through chaotic curls, exhaling deeply through his nose and glares at his feet, his hand gripping the strands until it almost hurt, feeling exasperated and oddly confused with his thoughts.

Love? Why was he thinking about love? They had sex one time and he's already contemplating the slight possibility of wanting to love her?

What were these feelings? Why do they always clutch at his heart and melt his defenses, burying him in a thick layer of _want_, not just for her to be underneath him again, but to also hold her like he couldn't before, to tell her it would be okay, that she didn't have to always shove those feelings down.

He wants to tell her he's afraid too, that he was afraid from the moment he heard her calling his name, he was afraid of what he kept himself so far away from; afraid when it encountered him unexpectedly head on.

That's what caused him to do it, to snap under all the pressure and expectations and boundaries, _so many _boundaries he's kept for himself around her because for some unexplainable reason he can never stop himself from getting so worked up about her.

He can't stop himself from _thinking_ about her, _dreaming _about her, _wanting_ her, _needing_ her.

And when he heard her call his name, _his name_, he suddenly felt like she was doing the same thing.

She was trying not to need him too.

It's these constant contemplations that swarm inside his head like buzzing bees in a beehive, that cause him to lash out in frustration, feeling a wave of anger overwhelming him, sinking him to the earth like he was washed up on a shore.

But he won't let her do this, he won't let her shove these thoughts and feelings she _might _have for him down in her gut and _forget_; because he certainly can never forget the sweet melodies of her voice encasing his ear and the passionate riveting feeling manifested in her every touch.

So, with this new resolve pulsing through his blood and coursing through his veins, he stands up determinedly, leans as far over the ground as he can, to reach over and scoop up his boxers; hurriedly trying to pull them on with one hand.

Although, it's the moment when he's bouncing up and down with his only free hand gripping the waistband of his jeans, trying desperately to pull them completely up over his ass, when his balance is suddenly thrown off by his center of gravity being pulled over by his confined wrist, that he has an epiphany.

He's completely and utterly _fucked_.

Well, maybe he realized that when he saw a certain little bane to his existence walk out of his door, taking his only way of freedom with her.

He's plummeting to the ground face first, except his handcuffed wrist thinks it's a great idea to jerk him in the opposite direction, the metal digging into his delicate flesh with no remorse, and he can't restrain a yell.

"AH- shit."

It's pitiful really, when after a split moment a lengthy guy with swept hair as dark as coal comes whooshing in through the door, practically kicking it open with his brand-new bravery and courage that he received in Mount Weather, his hands that had nervously gripped anything they could have to serve as a weapon, holding a gray bucket.

"I heard a yell, are you alright-?!"

It's cut short when both men glimpse at each other in bewilderment, Bellamy shirtless with his pants pulled midway over his ass, leaning awkwardly against the side of his bed, his arm bent in an uncomfortable position over his head, his jaw clenched in distress and his thick eyebrows furrowing together, casting his distraught expression in a shadow of resentment and a pinch of embarrassment.

Jasper had his jaw dropped, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise and his body slowly relaxing as he just blatantly stares, putting the pieces together in his head painstakingly slow, before murmuring under his breath in disbelief, "Clarke did this?"

Bellamy tries to pick up the scraps of his wounded ego, his back straightening against the makeshift bed and his eyes narrowing as his head thuds against the bed behind it, and he glances at the bulky object in the younger man's hands.

"You took a bucket to protect me?" He scoffs his voice roguishly sarcastic, one of his eyebrows raised and his lips pursued before flattening into a straight line as he glances to the poor guy hugging a bucket to his chest, like a shy school girl with her books pressed to her breasts.

Jasper makes a 'tsk' sound, slouching his shoulders and puffing his cheeks out in a slight pout, his eyes flickering to the hopeless bucket and to the hopeless man stranded and stuck to a wooden headboard of the bed, before leaning nonchalantly against the door, his chin faintly nodding at Bellamy's wrist.

"You're one to talk," he pauses before continuing, "plus, you should be thankful I tried to save your life, even if I might have used a bucket as a weapon…" Jasper trails off a little embarrassed, before straightening his shoulders and huffing, his hand curling around the doorknob, his other hand gripping the handle of his bucket, swinging the pail behind him.

Bellamy anticipates this and inwardly cringes, silently promising a death wish on Clarke before opening his mouth and forcing the measly words, "Wait, I uh- I'm stuck."

He finishes it dumbly, as if the fact that he was blatantly partially naked, secured by handcuffs, wasn't as obvious as it appeared.

Jasper glances over his shoulder at the unfortunate soul, sighing deeply out of pity that makes Bellamy cringe outwardly this time, and he lets his fingers slip off the metal of the golden knob.

"Alright I'll help you out, since it seemed Clarke wasn't going to come back any time anyways."

He says slyly while stepping closer to the headboard adorned with handcuffs; eyes not daring to glance at Bellamy's practically nakedness as he drops the bucket to his side, and goes to inspect the key slot to the handcuffs inquisitively.

Bellamy fidgets a bit before looking away as he feels skinny calloused fingers pry at his wrist, admiring the damage done by the restricted metal.

"Where did she," Bellamy starts off, his voice a little too desperate to be trusted, so he clears his throat and begins again.

"Where did she go-, after she left my cabin?" Jasper glances at Bellamy incredulously, the corner of his lips pulling up at the clearly flustered man beside him.

Jasper sighs, dropping the handcuff halfheartedly as he stands back up, finding it all too amusing watching Bellamy refuse to meet his eyes, a red hue tinting the color of his freckle sprinkled cheeks and a clenched jaw exposing his mortification at the whole predicament.

Jasper smirks and has to suppress a laugh, thinking, '_didn't think Clarke had it in her_,' before hesitantly replying, "Well, it was beginning to get dark out, and Monty and I were just setting up the moonshine for everyone. But last time I saw her she was sitting by the fire with Miller and some other guys."

Bellamy's eyes narrow at the mention of alcohol and _other guys_, his jealousy not exactly masked as he abruptly stands up as well, cursing at the surge of discomfort from his wrist and tugging frustrated at the waistband of his pants, muttering grumpily under his breath, "She gets angry at me for kissing some girl, and then she goes off and flirts with other guys…"

Jasper's eyes widen at the sudden movement and he glances away awkwardly, not entirely used to seeing the 'man in charge' so jumbled up, and briskly seizes the handle of his bucket.

"Jasper."

Jasper halts in his anxious movements and glances at the now half-way dressed man with pants still undone and an irritated expression decorating his face, the scrawny and lanky man anticipating the words fighting to get past Bellamy's teeth.

"Can you get me the keys? Clarke said they would be with Susan but... just check with Clarke first."

Bellamy mutters pathetically as his murky eyes glare at the floor where his discarded shirt lay, just out of reach.

Jasper feels a surge of sympathy for the poor man standing in front of him, but also having a strange urge to laugh; in which he manages to stiffen behind a straight face.

"No problem, Buddy."

And then he's scurrying out the door, bucket clanking against the door-frame as he shuts it behind him.

Bellamy plops down onto the bed, letting out a breath he was completely aware he was holding, and hangs his head low in post humiliation and anger.

One thing's for certain.

_Clarke was in for a punishment._

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><p><strong>AN: I know, I know. Cliff hangers are devils! But I can't really stop the chapter at any different point, you know what I mean? lol**

**this chapter was really funny to write, and the whole, "knocking helps," is pretty ironic once again lol**

**Review review review**

**Clarke is so in for it, what's Bellamy gunna do?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm sorry for the sort of delayed update. It's been pretty busy and I just found time to finish this, even if this is a bit short. Thank you so much for the continued support, I can never thank you guys enough. You guys are truly my motivation, and Bellarke is my inspiration! :)**

**Enjoy you guys!**

**WARNING: (Bad timing)**

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><p>The scorching roar of an inferno swelters and disassembles into ashes against the black sky, a sight reminding her of lightening bugs, glittering around the air that surrounds her, illuminating the a golden halo around her blonde tresses.<p>

She thinks he's like fire, speckles of light amongst the pitch back darkness of the night reminding her of scattering freckles, the dancing enraged flames appearing smooth and quick but dangerous if you touch it; just like the innocence of his smile and looming depth of his vigorous temper hiding behind it.

The searing hot of flickering flames is outrageously consuming, arousing all her senses and filling her lungs with smoke and warmth, enrapturing her tummy with heat like lava, just like when he's nearby- the heat that fluctuates in her stomach and courses through her veins, arising pink to tickle her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

The colors of vicious amber, a rigorous scarlet, and a treacherous blue eating away at the wood; all intermingling together to create a fire-

A fire that could roam through and devour anything in its path, a fire that swayed with unforetold movements and motions, a fire that is completely and utterly conspicuous and unpredictable.

She feels much like a child, reaching out her hand ignoring all doubts and pestering commands not to, and letting her fingers get licked by the flames of _him_.

She's afraid it'll hurt, it'll singe her skin and tarnish her better judgment, but how can she resist?

He's like the wondrous glow of a hypnotizing blaze, she feels enraptured and lured in, yet keeping her distance for the better.

She hates that he has the power to make her melt, to turn her into a shriveling mess of desire and yearning despite her best efforts to resist, to refuse and not comply to his enticement.

Unfortunately for her, he sees it oppositely.

She's like an ocean pulling him deeper in, then pushing him away.

She's like a constant struggle of diving deeper or fighting to get to the shore, twisting and turning him in different directions to where he loses control, letting her fill his lungs and enclose him in her embrace, everywhere is her and he doesn't know if he can fight to the surface or not.

But eventually, he has to, just like she has to pull her fingers back from his flames.

She closes her eyes tightly and sighs, her elbows resting against the tops of her knees as she leans closer to the sizzling bonfire, her head hanging low as she hesitantly brings the solid brass cup to her pink tulip lips, tilting her head back and halfheartedly letting the mind-number do its job.

The burning liquid feels almost comforting as it sashays down her throat and intermingles with the taste buds of her tongue, bringing a familiar and eased haze to her over-thinking brain.

No one would ever believe she was quite a drinker back on the Ark, always scavenging alcoholic drinks with Wells to satisfy her need for thrills, his constant rambling of concern bringing her twisted amusement as she'd down half a bottle of aged wine, watching him with a twinkle in her sea glass eyes.

"_What? It's only aged grapes."_

He'd roll his eyes and lecture her about the production of alcohol and why the Ark had banned underage drinking in the first place; not quite understanding why she could be so fascinated with a bitter taste, and not other things rebelling teenagers got into; such as sex, sex, and more sex.

She remembers telling him that no, she was in fact not going through a rebellious faze and a, "_It's an amazing feeling being up so high, not being able to control yourself and getting lost in everything. It's like everything is funny and nothing is wrong."_

He'd say, "_Are you an alcoholic or something?"_

And she'd giggle uncontrollably, hitting him on the shoulder while smiling slyly, replying with a, "_Perhaps Wells. Perhaps."_

She puts one of her hands on the side of her thigh enable to relieve some of her weight from her slouched back, her head throwing back as she vaguely admires the stars dotting the pitch black depths of the sky in a nostalgic sort of way, the alcohol already beginning to make her vision dizzy and her body lazy.

Who would have guessed she'd find herself here?

Her stuck on a volatile sphere oozing of radiation and countless monstrosities and multitudes of deaths, the weight of dozens of lives weighing down on her shoulders, dependent on her abilities, yet she feeling blissfully content?

Okay, maybe she had a bit too much to drink; she'd been downing the offered refills of moonshine like there's no tomorrow ever since scampering out of a certain curly haired irritatingly handsome man's cabin.

Too bad she's not a lightweight, or else she'd be black out drunk by now.

"Clarke! What'cha doin' over here all alone?" A voice calls to her enthusiastically from behind, a huddle of teenage testosterone hurdling her way with Monty at the head of the group, his hands occupied with balancing three cups filled to the brim with yellowish-brown liquor spilling over the rims, as he swoops in right beside her, almost causing her whiplash as she drops her head down from the sky and tilts her head to the side to look at him.

"I'm just drinking." She states dumbly, the truth of why she was sitting alone drinking her weight of moonshine almost spilling out from past her closed lips.

The bad thing about being tipsy and teetering over the edge of being full blown drunk is simple.

There's no filter, you literally want to spill your guts out along with your deepest darkest secrets and anything else that really comes to mind.

She doesn't notice that another man with his signature 5 o'clock shadow, has sat beside her, his usual beanie missing from his head as he shoots her an amused knowing grin.

"She's trying to avoid Bellamy, since she handcuff'd 'em and all."

Clarke whips her head around, causing some of her golden curls to smack Monty right in the face, as she stares at Miller with a wide doe-eyed expression, her lips parting in disbelief and embarrassment, her mind not being able to process that he was the one who gave her the handcuffs in the first place because of her over consumption of alcohol, as she sputters out, "How'd you know I handcuffed him!?"

He cocks a crooked smirk in her direction, leaning back nonchalantly before swinging an arm around her shoulder, leaning close to her ear, his whispered voice and scent of alcohol causing shivers to rush up her spine and heat to blossom her cheeks a rosy red.

"Jasper told 'e. Said he needed a key? And that Bellamy des-per-ate-ly needed it."

He adds emphasis of the word 'desperately,' pulling apart the word teasingly as he slouches back sluggishly, his eyelids drooping as he laughs at her bewildered appearance, her eyebrows shot up and her fingers curling tightly around the cup still clasped in her hand.

She attempts to ignore the weight of his arm atop her shoulders and the eyes of other boys looking at her curiously as she harshly whispers back, "Nothing happened! It isn't like that."

This time Monty barges back into the conversation recklessly, his side being pressed up against hers as he tries and fails to mimic their whispered tone.

"Every 'ne heard you two gettin' it on the other day," he pauses, his countenance souring and then contorting to one of thoughtfulness as she does another head turn, finding it slightly difficult to move in the non-existent space of two bodies flush against her sides.

She watches him with a mortified expression as he continues on painstakingly slow as if he was speaking to a toddler, his eyes suddenly fascinated with the swishes of alcohol in his cup, before becoming entranced with the speckles of green in her irises, "Clarke. You can't just handcuff everybody you like."

She leans back against Miller in surprise at the accusing words; her heart beginning to pace erratically in her chest as she quickly tries to deny his accusation with a shaky cry, "I do not like Bellamy!"

There's a slight pause after her abrupt outburst, where Monty's gazing at her with a 'uh-huh-sure' expression and Miller's cackling seem to want to taunt her to death.

But then there's this deep, husky voice booming from behind her, that sounds painfully similar to the devil himself.

"Oh really, Princess?"

She tenses, her breath getting caught in her throat and her heart beginning to pace even quicker.

Oh _shit._

She pushes Miller's arm off her shoulder hastily, her eyes flickering to Monty's in a discombobulated panic as she twists her upper body around to face a sinfully handsome man with flared nostrils and clenched fists.

"Bellamy I-…" She begins, her mind trying to decipher a good excuse for outright deserting him and then becoming cushioned between two intoxicated men.

But he doesn't want to hear it, he's approaching her with a fierce aura looming about him, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled taunt as he shoots menacing glares in both Monty and Miller's directions, as he grasps her wrist harshly and yanks her from her sitting position, pulling her along behind him in the direction of the drop ship.

She wobbles around, her legs like jelly and her brain like mush as she stumbles behind his departing body. He ignores her frustrated protests and whiny complaints as she drags her feet demanding to stop his livid stride.

"You can't just-," she begins to berate, but she's quickly cut off when her face smacks into his broad back, as he suddenly halts in his movements, her free hand going to rub at her aching nose as he throws his head back to glance at her with a stern glower, his glare so intense she feels her stomach drop and heat pool between her legs.

"We'll just _see_ how much you _don't_ like me."

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, I'm sorry about this one. This was actually connected to the next chapter and it was just too dang long, so I had to separate this one since the next chapter is pretty freaking long so far. BUT anyways, I will try to get the next update up soon! **

**(BTW: Monty, Miller, and Clarke are pretty drunk. Monty and Miller more-so though)**

**REVIEW review review**

**I'd say Bellamy's angry, wouldn't you?**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This was a pain in the ass to write, since it turned out so long! But I'm actually quite proud it turned out the way it did, even if it took a different direction then I intended. Thank you so much for all of your guys continued support. I take the time to read every review and every suggestion, and even let it guide my ideas for my story. I can't thank you guys enough for all the encouragement. **

**I'm sorry it took me so long to update. This site was being a butt the other day and deleted all of my proof-reading stuff, so I had to do it again. Hope you enjoy! **

**I'm sorry for any little mistakes or errors. I tried hard to catch everything. It's also hard to describe the dropship setting, so I left it vague, hope that doesn't bother anyone lol**

**ANYWAYS.**

**This is in fact kinky, and I blushed while writing it.**

**(WARNING: say it say it say it)**

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><p>The residing emotions running rapid in his mind and in his heart, along with her glare burning into the back of his head; causes his grip to tighten on her wrist.<p>

He ignores her slurred complaints and intolerable whines, only pausing momentarily to help her gain her balance when she stumbles around and trips over her own two feet.

He can hear his heart in his ears, his jaw clenching in irritation at the filtering images of her under another man's arm and her ear pressed up to that said man's lips, the reminder causing a chill to spiral down his spine and leave goose bumps in its wake.

It's only a short stroll to the dropship usually, but it feels like time has slowed with each word flinging from her mouth colliding with his ears.

"Bellamy, I know I handcuffed you and all," she hesitated briefly, sensing his clutch on her wrist tense up, her eyes descending upon a harsh jagged red indent running along his own wrist, a silent reminder of his humiliation being an amplifier to her anxiety.

"But I-… I mean, I was just mad, yah' know? Because you can't just sleep around after doing _that_ with me! It's _unacceptable-." _He weaves his way through another group of mingling intoxicated teenagers, disregarding the cat-calls and whistles directed towards him and a certain blonde. He feels a little smile tug on the corners of his lips, his anger being slightly diminished by her continuous drunken rambling, but he wouldn't dare let have her see the effect she had on him.

She takes a deep breath, trying to settle the barrage of words fighting restlessly to get out from her teeth, her legs tangling together again causing her to almost make an unwanted face-plant into his back once again. He steadies her, without even a glance over his shoulder as he continues his stern stride towards the dropship.

"I mean, what if I just came on to you- just pounced on you-, and not even _three days later_, I decide to sleep with Miller? Doesn't that sound ridiculous-." She can't stop her incoherent ranting, her mind trying desperately to assemble her thoughts into words, not quite processing the fact that she was being pulled in through a sheet and into a gray room, being steered into the direction of a familiar steel ladder.

"Clarke." He turns to face her, his features set in a frustrated appearance, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips curled downwards, and if Clarke wasn't as tipsy she'd even think he looked and sounded a bit… jealous.

She halts mid-sentence, her track of thought being derailed when she _really_ looks at him, her eyes roaming from his distraught chocolate curls to his murky dark eyes, and his perfectly sloped nose acquainted with spatters of freckles, and finally to the little scar above his almost blood red lips, her orbs of sea foam widening a bit.

She mumbles to herself almost fitfully shy, "You're really beautiful."

His breath gets caught in his throat at the sincerity of her words, her doe-eyes casting her features in a sinfully innocent expression, his heart picking up in pace and his stomach being flooded with a warm sort of feeling.

She steps closer to him, her chest almost brushing up against his as she leans forward, the scent of whiskey lingering on her breath as she skims the tip of her finger along the insignificant scar above his upper rose petal lip, before tracing over the outline of his lips with precise delicacy and wonder.

"I don't like other girls kissing you. Never had really... is that weird? I don't like it. I don't like the way you make me feel."

He tilts his chin down to admire her expression better, her brows pinched together in indecision and her bottom lip trapped between teeth, the sight causing another wave of heat flush over him, his body stiffening at the unfamiliar sensation, her words catching him off guard.

He watches intently as her light turquoise eyes lingering on his lips drop to the floor in a dejected way, her body swiftly pulling backwards as she motions to move away from their close proximity.

His clutch on her wrist remains consistent as he pulls her back, a little noise of surprise ushering past her lips as he holds her firmly against his chest, his vexation radiating off of him as he struggles impatiently with replying.

She feels her own heart beat accelerate with the unexpected surprise attack of butterflies swarming in her stomach, her lips parted in anticipation as she leans unsteadily against him.

"I wouldn't be kissing other girls if you would just say it-," he says in a low mischievous voice, his other hand, not currently being wrapped around her wrist, gently tipping her chin upwards so he could latch eyes with hers.

She notices with a hint of apprehension the lopsided grin adorning his handsome face, her body suddenly feeling very unexplainably and unwelcomely _hot_, his head tilting to the side just a tad as he continues on gradually, his eyes slyly dipping to her lips and then back up to her wary eyes.

"You do like me."

She casts her eyes to the side indecisively and bites her lip again, a habit that hadn't gone unnoticed by a freckle faced Bellamy, and she makes a little dissatisfied sound.

She jerks her arm away, splaying her fingers against his clothed chest before giving him a good shove.

He stumbles back against the thick bars of a ladder completely flabbergasted, his eyebrows shooting up and his cocky, smug smile slipping from his face. She begins to pace back and forth in front of him, something she usually does when deep in thought or mulling over a tough decision, her eyes cast downwards, her still hazy mind trying to piece together a solution to her predicament.

"What makes you think I like you?" She says exasperatedly and stubbornly, discontinuing her back and forth pacing, blue eyes meeting a menacing brown.

His amused appearance is too soon forgotten as he crosses his arms over his chest, his head resting back against the ladder, a scowl scribbled across his face.

"I don't know; the fact that you were _moaning_ my _name_, _fantasizing_ about _me, _just the other day might have something to do with it."

His voice is dripping with sarcasm and she scoffs, breaking eye contact to glare at the floor beneath his boots as her tongue presses to the inside of her cheek in embarrassment, trying to hide the blush creeping up her neck as she mutters, "that doesn't prove anything."

He drops his arms to his sides, growing frustrated with her lack of eye contact as he displays his abused wrist, the enclosed encasement of metal had dug into it mercilessly, leaving an ugly ring that would surely scar.

"And this doesn't prove anything, either?"

Her eyes wander to his wrist, the medical side of her brain accessing the real damage there, her fingers curling at her sides as she fights the urge to further her inspection on the abused flesh.

He notices with a wolfish smirk the rosy apples of her cheeks, his posture straightening in established confidence and takes a step closer to her, his dark eyes seeming to twinkle with mischief as he tilts his head to the side and lowers the tone of his voice to a playful whisper.

"Why do you have such a hard time accepting that you _might_ like me?" He pauses, her eyes catching his as he begins to corner her, her back pressing into the unforgiving cool metal of one of the drop ship walls. Her heart begins to hammer in her chest and she's slightly afraid he can hear it thumping; and she fights the urge to swallow nervously.

The amused glint to his expression simmers into something more, something fierce and dangerous, his hands splayed on either side of her head as his arms hold himself up and he towers over her. The smug grin he wore slipping as he invades her personal space, the distance between them beginning to diminish; she can even feel his hot breath tickling her nose and being whisked out against her lips.

She attempts to stay defiant, the intensity of her glare matching his own, portraying she was in fact not intimidated; in the way she pushes out her chest and tries to stand taller.

The corner of his lips curl upwards in a ghost of a sly smile, her bold resistance fueling the fire within him, and he drops his eyes to her lips and then flickers his gaze back onto her.

"Are you afraid because you don't know how I feel?" He continues on slowly as he leans in closer, his lips skimming the shell of her ear as he mutters seductively, "I promise you won't be disappointed."

He hears her shakily intake a breath and feels her shiver, his confidence sky rocketing as he steps nearer to her, his head dropping to the nape of her neck as his lips dare to encounter the tender flesh.

"Don't be so arrogant, Bellamy. How do you know I only think about you when I touch myself? What if you're not the only one? Just because I find you convenient to think about, doesn't mean I _like _you." She states steadily, trying to make the harsh lie convincing.

He tenses at her stubborn rebuttal, earning him a confident huff from the determined blonde, but he slowly relaxes, his lips brushing her exposed skin again as he murmurs, "We'll see if that's true, Princess."

And then he's hallowing his cheeks and sucking on her skin, his tongue prodding out and lavishing the flesh, his teeth sinking in and marking the place as his own.

Her fingers curl into fists at her sides, her bottom lip getting caught in-between her teeth and her eyes fluttering closed as she tries to suppress the noises clawing at the inside of her throat. The sensation makes her weak in the knees and causes an all too familiar heat to fluctuate in-between her legs.

He trails the bittersweet kisses and nips up the side of her neck and to the underside of her jaw, his legs wedging in-between her thighs, nudging against her core as he motions even closer, his hands dropping only to grasp her ass and hoist her up, the action receiving a small whimper easing out past her lips and her legs encircling around his waist.

He draws his head back and latches eyes with hers, taking in her distressed golden curls and her flushed cheeks, her glazed over blue eyes and parted pink lips, and he knows instantly that he has to have her.

_She has to be his._

He crashes his lips onto hers in a vigorous fury, his tongue skimming across her bottom lip begging for entrance, in which she hesitantly complies, her tongue tangling with his and her fingers getting lost in the depths of his curls, fisting and tugging on the strands as she tilts her head and kisses him back just as fervently.

He backpedals towards the ladder, her legs tightening around him as she grinds herself against his growing arousal, her lips detaching from his as she gasps for air, her eyes fluttering open to meet his musky brown eyes, her gaze dropping, only to admire the way he licks his inviting lips.

"Give me a reason not to do what I'm about to do." He mutters darkly, the low shallowness of his voice heightening her nervous excitement, her legs quickly unraveling around his waist as he drops her back on her feet,her fingers slipping from his strands reluctantly, her chest heaving slightly from their shared kisses.

She suppresses the urge to bite her lip as she cocks an eyebrow at him, ignoring the anxious feeling clutching at her heart and the fluttering butterflies roaming about in her stomach, her eyes darting back up to his determinedly as she speaks just as soft and menacingly.

"What reason would be enough to stop you?" She leans in closer, taking in his blown wide pupils and the tension in his jaw, liking the exhilarating thrill she always received when they fight, wanting to push him as much as he always pushed her; get under his skin and simply drive him crazy.

It's an outrageous confidence booster knowing that she could get under his skin in more ways then one, the way he looks at her dispersing any residing feelings of insecurity.

He did want her.

He wanted her bad.

And he'd be damned if she wasn't going to toy with him.

His lips pull up into a lazy grin, his crooked sneer giving off the notion that he was acting out of desire and jealousy.

"Tell the truth; do you want me?" He pauses mid-sentence whilst searching her eyes before continuing, "If you lie, I'll have to do something you won't be able to handle."

His tone is mischievous and threatening, his hand that had been entangled in her hair now slipping to his back pocket, pulling out an all too familiar pair of handcuffs, his eyes never leaving hers as he dangles it in front of her.

She takes a shaky breath through her nose, her throat getting dry at the sight of jingling metal, but she refuses to back down as she composes herself and shoots him a stellar smirk.

"First of all, I can handle anything you throw at me," she breaks off, her eyes glancing away as she steadies the racing of her heart, before looking back to him with a self-assured glare.

She holds out her wrist for him as she continues on, "Secondly, no. I don't want you. And it doesn't matter what you do, nothing will ever change that."

She feels so confident when his eyebrows furrow in frustration and his smile transitions to a thin line, but it's short lived when she feels the metal encase her wrist with a, 'click.'

It's as if she's just dug her own grave, and he makes sure to use her stubbornness and pride against her, as he steps closer and uses his height to intimidate her, his voice rough and severe as he mutters, "Turn around."

At first she doesn't move, too firm in her stance to thoroughly piss him off.

He has to take a deep breath to relieve some of his impulsive anger, his eyes closing briefly as he mutters through clenched teeth.

"Now."

She complies hesitantly, turning around only to come face to face with the dull bars of a steel ladder, her breath hitching when she feels his front press into her back, his hand guiding her handcuffed wrist to the ladder. Her still slightly hazy mind sobers up quick at his hushed tone.

"Bend over."

She obeys sullenly, her heart accelerating in pace and her cheeks beginning to heat, and she tries to not shown him her embarrassment at the position.

He successfully secures her to one of the lower bars, causing her to groan in disapproval, her other hand clasping to the bar to steady herself.

He moves swiftly with a new found sense of authority over her, his foot nudging her feet together as his fingers dip into the waistband of her jeans and panties, before tugging them down in one rushed movement. She steps out of her jeans and panties, kicking them off to the side nervously, her face flushing at the sudden cool drift encountering her bare skin, the night air intermixed with the vulnerability of being exposed causing goose bumps to arise.

He steps back, swallowing thickly at the sight, her back slanted downwards with her ass in the air, her legs spreading far apart for balance.

For a moment he just soaks in the view, his hand ghosting the curve of her silky smooth bottom, his calloused palm causing an almost ticklish feeling, and she squirms underneath his touch.

"I'm going to punish you now; I'll stop when you admit it." He states bluntly, his heart in his throat and his fingers twitching as he splays them over her left cheek, the skin soft and tender underneath his touch.

She cranes her neck trying to look over her shoulder at him, her heart hammering in her chest as if it wanted to burst through her ribcage, her hands gripping the bar tightly as she anticipates his awaited actions.

She doesn't know if she's excited or afraid, she doesn't know what to expect since she's never done anything as scandalous as this, she doesn't know why she isn't worried about the loud drunken voices just outside the dropship, and she really doesn't know why she says the next thing she does.

"Then we'll be here all night, because I won't admit it." She murmurs insistently, before breaking eye contact to rest her forehead against her knuckles.

He nods sternly, his jaw tightening as he pulls back his hand slowly, only to swiftly bring it back down onto her ass in a brash hasty movement, earning him a yelp from the sun kissed beauty.

She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut, the warm tingly sensation settling in as she whimpers quietly.

"Say it." He mutters assertively, his hand gently caressing the already blushing skin.

"No." She rebuttals boldly, before taking a deep breath of air, impatiently expecting the next strike.

_She always had to be so insufferably stubborn._

He spanks her again, except rougher this time, his palm beginning to get tingly as he licks his lips.

She jerks forward, another cry escaping her throat as she clenches the bar in front of her.

"Say it."

"No."

Another smack and another yell, the once milky skin of her left cheek now a light red along with the outline of his hand, and he starts to get impatient.

"Say it!"

"No!"

This time he spanks her twice; her whimpers and cries resounding around the room and for some unexplainable reason heat pools in-between her legs, her breathing becoming labored after each strike.

He curses underneath his breath, his hand drifting to her other cheek, his blood coursing further down south.

"Say it." This time it's breathless, and he doesn't even wait for her response before he smacks her tender flesh again with brute force, her body jolting forward at the harsh impact and she squeals.

She feels tears build in her eyes, clenching her thighs and curling her toes as she hopelessly wishes for something to relieve the ache between her legs.

The idea of touching herself surfaces in her mind, and her free hand lessens its vise grip of the bar.

But she couldn't possibly let him know she was getting turned on by this.

Why was she getting turned on by this!?

Of course she knew she did in fact like him, and want him, so _bad_ that it hurt, but how could she give him the satisfaction of knowing?

She didn't want to just be one of those girls that drop their panties for him and leave in the morning.

She wanted to be special.

Which, she was, in some sense, special to him.

She knew he respected her far more than most, and that he enjoyed her company and that they needed each other to a certain degree.

But why was she so afraid of just admitting it, like he so desperately wanted her too?

He swiftly spanks her again, lurching her out of her thoughts, an unshed tear slipping down her cheek, her lips parting and her forehead nudging against the ladder, sweat encasing her skin and she lets out a high-pitched yell that sounded a lot like his name.

"Fuck, Clarke," He murmurs, his hand cascading from the mounds of her cheeks to the backs of her thighs, his fingers curiously trailing to her exposed slit, before skimming in-between her parted pink lips, only to encounter her slick wet arousal. She squirms underneath his touch, whimpering out and making little noises that could only be described as being cute.

"Holy shit, you're so fucking wet." He sighs out in awe, his fingers pulling back so he could examine them closer, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

She glances over her shoulder at his strained voice, her eyes widening at the sight and she can't help but blush.

"Shut up."

He locks eyes with her, a smug smirk splaying across his irritatingly handsome face, his eyes darkening with lust as he drops his hand to his side, tilting his head a bit.

"What if I just left you here, Princess? I mean, after what you did to me, I have a good reason to do so." His voice is teasing as takes a step back and rubs the palm of his slightly sore hand against his clothed thigh.

She doesn't take him seriously, but the thought of being left stranded half naked makes her stomach churn anxiously.

"You wouldn't." Her eyebrows pull together and she crunches her nose a bit as she scowls at him, her legs trembling like jelly and she doesn't think she has the strength to hold herself up much longer.

He winks at her mockingly, turning around on his heel as his takes a step closer to the entrance, before her voice halts him.

"Please!" She cries out in panic, knowing deep down that she was doing what he wanted her too. She feels weak in more ways than one, her legs giving out from underneath her as she falls to her knees, her free hand slipping from the steel bar and falling to her lap, as she keeps her back to him.

She closes her eyes tightly, her gaze dropping to the floor as she squeezes out the words he'd yearned to hear.

"I want you and I like you…" She admits before stalling, her heart dropping into her gut in nervousness as her breath gets caught in her throat, her fingers curling into a fist as she throws her head up, her eyes fluttering open and her lips parting as she tries to ramble on heatedly at the sound of his approaching steps.

"But that-," She doesn't get to finish her sentence, because he'd already kneeled down beside her when she wasn't watching, both his hands hastily embracing her cheeks as he captures her lips in a passionately sweet kiss.

She doesn't respond immediately, her mind going a mile a minute and her body tensing in surprise, before he angles his head to the side so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue prodding past her lips and dancing with her own as she finally relaxes against him, a breath she didn't know she was holding in exhaling through her nostrils and tickling his cheeks.

Bellamy is the first to pull back, his forehead resting against hers as he admires her flushed red face and pouty pink lips with a smile, the relief of hearing her say those words still causing his heart to pace quickly.

She flutters her own eyes open, taking in his softened expression and melted chocolate eyes, her own shy smile causing the corners of her lips to curl upwards.

"I want you, and like you, too, Clarke." He whispers quietly as he searches her eyes for the tenderness that always seemed to linger there when it came to him, and grins widely when he finds it.

She rolls her eyes affectionately, flickering her gaze back onto him, the world around her and the worries that surrounded and suffocated her heart seeming to disassemble and wither away.

"Took you long enough to say it, huh?" He teases, one of his hands slipping from her cheek as he goes to pull out a familiar key from his back pocket.

She hits him on the shoulder halfheartedly, smiling brighter than he's ever seen before.

"You're one to talk!" She replies incredulously, feeling the urge to laugh bubbling up inside her as she feels the metal restraint around her wrist being taken off, her arm dropping limply to her lap, and she finds herself subconsciously rubbing at her abused wrist.

He smiles back, taking her injured wrist in his hand and pulling it to his lips, watching her through the gaps between her fingers as he leaves gentle kisses along the red ridged line.

"I'm sorry." He whispers against her flesh, his smile slipping and concern overtaking his expression, a wave of guilt consuming him as he glances at her with an ashamed frown.

"It's okay." She leans closer to him, her lips skimming his ear as she mumbles softly.

"I like it when you're rough." She pulls back quickly, blushing a bit at her suggestive words, and it takes him a moment to process what exactly she means.

He smiles a mischievous, wicked smile, his eyes darkening as he slowly drops her wrist into his lap.

"I haven't even fucked you yet, sweet heart."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: That sweet enough for you? haha. **

**Just so there's no confusion, I hope the (spanking) didn't come off as abusive. When writing this, I tried to make it clear that she agreed with what he was going to do, so it didn't sound like he forcefully did it.**

**I dunno.**

**review review review**

**Bellarke loving or another problem, what should I do?**


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